The Concierge & The Citadel
by RosalieReddington
Summary: "There are few that understand love and loss more than I..." Raymond Reddington once had a relatively normal life. A wife, a child, a few good friends. Fate was unkind when it took those he loved. Now, as he faces death row, fate returns a familiar face that will bring memories, joy, and love back to Red's life. Pre-Blacklist Years. (Mostly) Cannon Compliant.
1. Prologue: Found Something

Elizabeth Keen sat miserably at her desk inside the Post Office, her eyelids heavy and her brow furrowed in despair as she went through the events of the previous night for the umpteenth time…

She had spent most of the prior evening at the penitentiary where Red had been kept, she stayed and watched as Raymond Reddington was executed.

They were too late.

Seconds after Red's heart stopped, Dembe left the viewing room without a word.

Liz didn't blame him for storming out. She doubted he would ever forgive her for her role in Reddington's death.

The man had been Dembe's closest friend, his family, his brother.

Lizzie couldn't bring herself to move in the moments after. The horrific refrain of '_I killed him. I killed him. I killed him_,' shouting the accusation inside her skull alongside the piercing echo of Red flat-lining.

The door had no more closed at Dembe's back, then a massive explosion shook the building from somewhere in the distance.

Reporters coming to cover Reddington's execution all went scrambling out into the hall.

The warden and the nurses in the execution chamber looked confusedly at one another, the former immediately closing the curtain to the viewing area.

Lizzie heard a frantic commotion going on outside in the hallway, but she just sat there, completely unmoving. She did not cry then, she did not blink or twitch. She barely even breathed as she stared in horror at the closed curtain behind which she knew Red's still body lay.

Liz remained in her seat for almost an hour, paralyzed by shock and guilt.

No one even noticed she was still there until the door to the room opened and a soft, comforting male voice called to her. For a moment, one terrifying moment, she thought it was Red.

Try as she might, Liz couldn't turn her head from the viewing window. She couldn't bear to see him pale, wan, and horribly still.

Death would never suit someone who was always so wonderfully, voraciously alive.

Lizzie had been so unyielding in her relentless pursuit of the truth, she had barely gotten to experience the untethered spirit that was Raymond Reddington.

Why hadn't she enjoyed him more?

She wished she had gone with him to Cuba and worn that guayabera dress.

She wished she had taken him up on that grapefruit gusher.

She should have taken his arm that day with the helicopter and the Djinn.

She should have let him spend more time with Agnes.

She shouldn't have called him a monster.

She shouldn't have fought him so much.

Why hadn't she enjoyed his ebullient, eccentric zest for life just a little more?

"Keen."

It wasn't Red.

"Keen."

Was it Ressler?

"Liz."

A large, warm hand grasped Lizzie's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The woman turned silently, her gaze settling on the obviously masculine hand and following it upward along a thick, muscled arm, straight up to Baz's gentle face.

He looked better than she had ever seen him.

Baz's face was no longer taut or etched in harsh lines. It seemed as though he had slept the intervening months away, eaten a few square meals that weren't protein bars, and most importantly, hadn't dodged a bullet in years.

"Let's get you home."

He gingerly eased Liz from the chair, wrapping a consoling arm about her shoulders and leading her out into the chaotic hallway.

Liz watched dazedly as guards and attendants scurried the halls like cockroaches, shouting and gesturing wildly at one another.

A slight haze hung in the bright incandescent light, the smoke and scent of fire wafting from a lengthy hallway to their left.

"What's going on?" She asked in a distant voice, sounding entirely unlike herself.

"Nothing you need to worry about." Baz insisted, gently attempting to steer her blank gaze away from the conspicuous wreckage at the end of the hall. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Wait." Liz's breath caught forcefully in her throat, the full gravity of her loss crashing in around her. "Where is he? Where's Red?"

One white-hot tear trickled down her cheek, burning a wet trail on her skin.

"He's gone, Elizabeth." Baz's steady voice held a heavy, sorrowful note, sending another pang of despair to Liz's gut.

"No," she whispered, "_No_! I need to say goodbye!" She fought Baz's firm but gentle hold, his kindness in that moment only serving to infuriate her.

She knew Red was down that hallway, she just knew it. Lizzie had to say goodbye, had to tell him she was sorry, that she never meant for this to happen.

She never wanted him to die.

"Liz, he's not there." Baz tried to get her to understand, but it was as if she couldn't hear him at all.

"Where have they taken him? Why are there so many people? _Red_!" She called out for the man, but he did not answer.

He must really be gone, Red would never ignore Lizzie calling for him. If he were there, if he were alive, he would have come striding around the corner, cool as a cucumber and flashing her that roguish smile which told her he had definitely just gotten away with something.

Nobody came. Nobody answered.

"Lizzie, he's gone," Baz reiterated, "These people are here because someone _took_ Red."

"Wha-What?" Her voice had fractured to a fragile, gravelly whisper, "What do you mean someone took him?"

Baz turned her firmly away from the carnage scattered in the distance, "I will tell you everything I know, once we get you out of here."

Minutes later, he carefully lowered Lizzy into the passenger seat of Red's usual black sedan and closed the door, slid into the driver's side and immediately sped from the parking lot.

"What happened to you?" Liz questioned, "Last time I saw you, you were dying in the middle of the road from a gunshot wound to the chest courtesy of Kate Kaplan."

Baz gave a curt nod, "Red had his code 77 team on standby. He had the ambulance take me to the warehouse and they patched me up just fine. When I woke up, the whole mess with Kate was over and there was Reddington, once again sitting atop the bone pile. I was battle weary, told the man it was high time I retired. He agreed, _insisted_ I do so. He gave me a house and a massive acreage up in Montana and a salary to carry me through the rest of my days-"

"He was broke at the time, how on earth did he manage such a thing?" Liz was growing more and more suspicious as they trundled along in Reddington's car.

"_Illiquid_," Baz corrected with a smirk, "There's a difference. The Reddington empire has failsafes for certain things and certain people. I had been with Red long enough to have my very own failsafe. You and Dembe are in that category as well, Kate was at one point, R-" he faltered, "Anyway, I've got a new wife now, see my kids every week for dinner, it's been a good life thanks to Red."

"You have kids?" Lizzie had never even thought to ask about Baz's personal life. She had been too busy trying to get him out of hers.

Baz's face lit up with a broad grin, "Two. They're long grown now, one's got a baby on the way."

"That's great…" The car fell into an awkward silence, as Liz continued eyeing the man warily. "Baz, why are you here?"

The old bodyguard sat chewing the inside of his cheek while they waited for the traffic light in front of them to turn green. "I wouldn't miss this. I couldn't let Red go without…I couldn't live out my days knowing I didn't make an appearance, didn't pay my respects to the man who gave me damn near everything I hold dear."

Liz picked up on the half-truth, her eyes narrowing further. "That's not all."

"No," agreed Baz, carefully keeping his eyes on the road. They were pulling up to a hastily assembled roadblock cobbled together by local police.

"What _is_ all this, Baz? Tell me what's going on."

The man held up a finger as two members of the local pd came up to the windows.

He handed one officer his identification, which Liz would bet her life was completely false, and asked her to flash her badge, while the second officer ran a mirror alongside the bottom of the vehicle.

The officers requested Baz open the trunk, which he did, and upon finding nothing, they were sent on their merry way.

Liz's eyes continued to bore into the side of Baz's head, refusing to relent until he told her what was going on.

"There are certain protocols in place for when Red would eventually be killed. One of them pertains to you and your protection. Having at one time been responsible for your protocol, I knew you would likely need safe transport back to D.C."

"Why?"

"I'm sure Red told you, in the event of his death, you inherit the vast majority of his wealth. That kind of money puts you at a significant risk. You wouldn't be able to just hop on a commercial jet anymore, Liz."

Baz gave a heavy sigh, "There's a plan for everything from here on out, except…"

"_Except_?" She prompted, desperate for more information.

"Except nobody knows if the protocols are in play, because there's no proof of death."

"Proof of death? What do you mean? They killed him, I heard him flat-line. How can there be any question?"

Baz began explaining the scene they happened upon in the hallway, "There was an explosion on the South wall of the building seconds after the injections were administered."

Liz nodded vigorously, she had heard the sound. "What happened then?"

Baz turned meaningfully toward her, "The curtain of the viewing area was closed. No Time of Death was ever called because of all the commotion. An extraction team came in through the detonation point and took him right from the execution chamber."

"You don't know who's responsible or where they took him?"

Baz's didn't answer as they pulled up to an aircraft hanger just outside of Terre Haute. Two armed guards stepped out of a Gulfstream Liz knew to be Reddington's.

The old bodyguard cautiously opened the door to the sedan, "Stay here a moment." Stepping out with his hands held aloft, he strode casually up to the other two, speaking in a voice much too soft to hear.

Only one guard responded, his manner and response quite curt.

Baz carefully reached into his jacket pocket, just above his heart, and unpinned something. He opened his hand to the guards and they peered at the small item for a moment before both giving a nod of assent, hurriedly re-boarding the plane.

Baz turned and opened Liz's door, holding out a hand to her. "Off we go, kid"

He ushered her onto the plane without another word, but Liz was already full of questions.

"Does this mean the protocols are in place?" She asked, sitting down in one of the empty seats, her eyes flitting guiltily to the one which had so often been occupied by Red.

"No, that whole exchange served to show the protocols have not been engaged."

Liz was confused, "...But the thing you showed them?"

"The brooch isn't a protocol, it's a _chit_," he explained, "It was left for you by someone who knew you might need its protection."

"Reddington."

Baz's mouth twitched, "A chit is something owed to the giver, redeemable at the time of her choosing." He held the item out to Lizzie, "You should keep it."

Liz held out her palm, into which was placed a glittering gold brooch. The precious metal was cast in the figure of a slender ballerina in a voluminous tu-tu. The bodice and skirt were made of spectacular blue fire opal, the hem studded with tiny white diamonds glittering like a thousand resplendent stars.

The ballerina was a pristine yellow gold, her long limbs stretching daintily outward in a flawless arabesque. Everything about her was perfect, right down to the neat little bun atop her head.

"What happens now?"

Baz closed the door to the cockpit, leaving the two guards and the pilot inside. "Now we get you home."

Liz didn't want to go home. "But Reddington-"

"His own people will focus on him." Baz interjected in a tone which brooked no argument. He nearly laughed as Liz's stubborn blue eyes scowled at him.

"Does Dembe know?"

He stroked his goatee pensively, "I don't know. He has his own protocols to follow. Red being taken may supersede his final orders. I can't imagine him not knowing."

"Didn't you speak to him?" Liz asked, not believing the two compatriots would simply ignore each other after all this time.

"Only in passing outside the viewing area. He just reminded me to do my job."

"That's _it_?" Liz snapped, "He didn't say anything else?"

Baz looked pityingly at her, "You don't understand how deep their friendship went, Dembe and Red. I'm amazed the man said that much."

Lizzie felt another hot stab of guilt hit her insides, silencing any further questions.

"I'm sorry I don't have all the answers you're looking for." Baz was doing his best to placate, knowing beneath Red and Lizzie's volatile relationship lay a certain undeniable measure of caring.

"Do you have a phone?" Liz asked tentatively, "I need to call the taskforce."

Baz shifted uncomfortably, "I don't know if that's a good idea…"

"Please, Baz. I have to do _something_."

The man's lips pursed sympathetically beneath his snowy whiskers. He hesitated another moment before he relented and pulled out the satellite phone.

Baz stood and handed the phone to Liz, then stepped into the cockpit so she could have a moment's privacy.

"Is she on?"

Dembe's smooth, calm voice echoed from the speaker of a satellite phone which was immediately thrust into Baz's hand.

"I'm here with her, we are on the second leg."

Baz dropped himself into a nearby seat with a heavy sigh of relief. "How are they? How far from the changeover are you?"

A small smile could be heard in Dembe's voice, "Both are going to be just fine, she hasn't left his side. We are meeting the seaplane in fifteen minutes. We'll take off immediately from Lake Ontario in twenty."

"Excellent," Baz stretched the tightness from his back, he had forgotten how stiff all this traveling made him.

"What about your package? I assume her chit got you on the plane?"

"Yes, everything went as planned, the penitentiary is still in complete chaos. Nobody knows anything just yet. Liz is pretty shook up, but she'll find out the truth as soon as the FBI pulls the security footage."

Dembe could be heard relating the information to the parties on his end, who were voicing their own follow-up questions. "Has she called the taskforce yet?"

Baz checked the surveillance screen showing the plane's cabin, Liz hadn't moved from her seat, the phone still pressed tightly against her ear. "She's on with them right now. I'd say you've got four, maybe five hours before they catch up."

Dembe was murmuring his agreement with someone on the other end, "We will be long off-grid by then. It's just over an hour's flight in the seaplane."

"Excellent," Baz grinned, "I'll let you go so you can focus on your changeover. Give my best to the Mrs."

He could hear Dembe chuckle softly to himself before the line fell silent once more.

Out in the main cabin, Liz dialed Ressler's cell.

Ressler, Samar, and Aram were quietly drinking in Cooper's office, their eyes red-rimmed and brows furrowed.

They had stood together around Ressler's phone just before midnight and watched the minutes tick by, signaling the end of Reddington's life, and thus the end of the taskforce.

They hadn't yet heard from Cooper or Keen, but this did not surprise the three agents. Liz was no doubt distraught over Red's death, and Cooper had likely been railing against the President for the past hour.

An unknown number appeared on Ressler's screen.

He merely stared at it for a moment before hitting the answer button and placing the call on speaker.

"Ressler?"

"Keen?"

Samar and Aram lifted weary heads at the sound of the agent's name.

"How are you...How are you holding up?"

Liz fidgeted with the gold ballerina, "I've certainly been better."

"Yeah…" Donald didn't know what to say, what could possibly be done to make any of this better.

"Somebody took Reddington after he… After he stopped breathing. I was hoping I could ask for your help in locating him."

"Wait," Aram blurted, "Somebody did _what_?"

Liz wasted no time in telling the whole sad, suspicious tale. There was a finite length of time before the trail would inevitably go cold, and she needed their help.

"Why on earth would someone take Reddington's body? It seems so unnecessary." Samar wondered aloud, now just as skeptical as Liz.

Aram looked like he might be ill. "It's positively abhorrent."

"What did Dembe have to say about this?" Something didn't add up in this retelling, and Ressler was determined to find out why.

Liz lowered her voice, "That's the really strange bit. Dembe's run off somewhere. He left the viewing area seconds before that explosion, but he's supposedly off tending to some protocol Red had in place in the event of his death."

The three agents on the other end glance confusedly around at one another. It was Ressler who asked, "Who told you that?"

"Baz."

"_Baz_? Where did you run into Baz?"

"I thought he died?" Samar added, holding Aram's despondent gaze.

Liz continued to whisper into the phone, "Nope, apparently he just retired. He was there at the execution, supposedly to pay his respects and to do his part in a protocol Reddington had in place for me."

"What was the protocol?" Asked Ressler, taking a seat on the corner of Cooper's desk.

"I don't know what the protocol is, because according to Baz none of them are in play. No time of death was ever called for Raymond Reddington."

"Then that begs the question," the smooth, deep voice of Harold Cooper echoed from the line, "...Where is Dembe Zuma?"

Samar, Aram, and Ressler turned to find their boss leaning against the office doorway, listening in on the conversation.

"Sir," Liz acknowledged, not realizing the other man had been on the line.

Cooper hung up his coat and sat himself in his usual chair. "Fill me in, I've heard the news from Terre Haute. Where are we on recovering Reddington?"

"I'm en route to D.C. as we speak. Reddington's order of events for his inevitable death aren't in play, but apparently there's a bargaining chip he left with Baz which bought me safe passage in his Gulfstream."

"That sounds like something Reddington would do," Samar conceded, "but why drag Baz into it?"

"Baz said he was at one time responsible for my protocol, whatever it was. He came to say goodbye, and because he knew I would need assistance getting home."

"What can we do to help?"

It was Aram's voice this time, soft and sincere.

Liz felt a small smile tug at her lips at the sound of her friend's voice. "Can you pull the surveillance footage from Terre Haute? If we're going to find Red or Dembe, we will need to start with what happened after the execution."

"Of course, I'm on it." Aram leapt you from the small sofa and whipped out of the room, heading directly for his desktop.

"We'll start digging immediately," Cooper assured, "How long until you reach D.C.?"

Red's plane landed just shy of an hour later, dropping Liz and Baz on a private landing strip before taxiing right back onto the tarmac and taking off once more.

"Where are they going?" Liz questioned, watching the sleek bird speed off into the night.

Baz guided her toward a hanger in which one of Reddington's signature S-class sedans sat waiting. "They're going to assist Red's people."

For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Liz wondered if he was being purposefully vague.

Baz opened the door for Liz, who simply stared for a moment at the cavernous backseat.

It seemed so wrong that Red wasn't there in his usual immaculate suit, offering up some clever quip regarding her choice of attire or lack of adequate response to his phone calls.

Baz waited patiently, giving her time to come to terms with the empty cabin.

In truth, he felt badly for Liz. She seemed really cut up about the old man's passing, despite how much he recalled the two of them perpetually fighting like cats and dogs.

Liz finally slid into the seat, and the pair took off toward the heart of D.C.

"Can you take me to the Post Office?" She asked eventually, her eyes following the rows of bare cherry blossom trees as they sped past the window.

"Are you sure? It's awfully late" Baz's face wrinkled in a frown, knowing the question was a losing battle.

"The taskforce is already looking into Red's disappearance, I'm going to help."

The man gave a curt nod and turned the sedan per her directions.

Liz guided him through the city to the narrow alleyway which the taskforce used to access the Post Office.

Twenty minutes later, Baz pulled up alongside the familiar fire escape and parked. Lizzie recognized the three vehicles sitting inconspicuously at the edge of the alley as Ressler's, Samar's, and Cooper's. Aram's bike was no doubt inside.

The gang was all there.

"This is where you and I part ways."

Liz came hurtling back to reality with unpleasant force. "You aren't staying?"

Baz met her panicked gaze in the rearview mirror and smiled, "No, I did my part in getting you home safe and sound. It's time I get back to my wife." He exited the car and opened the door for her.

Liz nodded her understanding. Of course Baz wasn't about to come bounding back into Reddington's world now that he'd gotten out. She wrapped her arms about the old bodyguard's massive shoulders and thanked him for his help.

"Don't mention it," he insisted, allowing the brief hug, "You've got your chit?"

Liz held out the delicate ballerina with a small grimace, "Are you sure I should keep this? It looks expens-"

"It's meant specifically for you. Do not lose it." Baz's tone was quite serious, "Keep it on you at all times until this all blows over. Either on the inside of your jacket or pinned with your badge. You never know when you might need a hand."

Liz nodded nervously and watched as Red's hired gun headed back to the sleek black sedan.

"Fly safe," she murmured with a small wave. "If you hear anything from Dembe or Red's people, will you have them give me a call?"

Baz's mouth twitched into a small smile, "Good luck, Lizzie."

With that, he loaded into the car, and Liz hurried up the stairs of the fire escape, heading directly for the Post Office elevator.

Baz purposefully waited until Liz was in the building and out of earshot before he hit the call button on the car's bluetooth phone connection. It rang thrice before he heard the click of the line being picked up.

"She's officially at the Post Office. Where are you on the timeline?"

Dembe breathed a sigh of relief through the connection, "We are settled in her safehouse. Nobody followed, nobody noticed us landing, no chatter whatsoever. It could not have gone more smoothly."

"How about Red?" Baz asked eagerly, hoping for more good news.

A warm female voice came over the line, "He's perfectly stable, the code 77 team is insisting on keeping him sedated for two days. They seem to think I'll cause a bit of a shock."

Baz laughed aloud at the woman's tone of clear disgruntlement. "Well, you have had a bit of a surprise streak these past few weeks."

He gladly teased the woman he knew so well, knowing she was probably at her wits end and needed a laugh.

A half-hearted titter of amusement filtered through the connection, "Yes, well, they can bear Raymond's wrath when he wakes up."

They both had a good laugh at this, taking great joy in imagining the fugitive's reaction.

"I can't thank you enough, Baz" the gentle voice whispered earnestly, "Now go home or I'll have hell to pay with your wife."

Baz roared with laughter once again, "Yes Ma'am."

"My plane is back at the airstrip, ready and waiting to take you home."

"You ought to come out sometime, once you're all settled."

"We'll be sure to do that…Thank you again, my dear, for everything."

The old bodyguard grinned and kicked the sedan's powerful engine into life.

"Anytime, Reddington, anytime."

Liz rode the elevator down into the Post Office without fully comprehending where she was.

Reaching the lower level, she trudged toward her office, her eyes focused on the floor as her guilty mind hurtled through the events of the past few months and where everything had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

To add to her misery, her mind reminded her that someone had now taken him. Someone had taken Red before- Before she could say goodbye.

Liz's spine stiffened and her eyes narrowed icily at the black concrete floor. She would find the people responsible. They would find who took Reddington if it was the last case the taskforce ever completed.

"Um, Liz?… Liz!…. Agent Keen!"

Liz was pulled from her plans for retribution by a gentle hand on her shoulder and what she vaguely registered as her name.

She turned to see Aram following just behind her with his laptop in tow.

"Hey Aram-"

The woman barely got the words out before her friend gathered her in a bone-crushing hug.

Liz patted his back a bit awkwardly, as her arm had gotten trapped at an odd angle beneath his. She tried to catch her breath as he slowly squeezed even more air out of her, "…Aram?"

"Oh, right," he murmured, releasing her immediately only to take her hand in his. "You've got to see this."

Aram dragged her directly up to Cooper's office, where the rest of their co-workers were all nursing glasses of stout liquor. They all stood when Liz entered the room.

'_Now, here at the end, I'm at peace because of them_.'

Lizzie's eyes shone with tears as she recalled one of the last things Raymond Reddington said to her. These few precious people standing in Cooper's small dark office at this ungodly hour...

Her friends.

_They_ were the reason he could go peacefully into that good night.

Samar was the first to wrap Liz in a warm, consoling hug. She was immediately followed by Ressler, who like Aram, nearly tried to squeeze the life out of Liz.

Cooper was the last one, stepping forward with a face full of regret.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"You did everything you could." She assured, wrapping her arms around Cooper and squeezing him tightly. "I know Red appreciated your efforts on his behalf. All of you." She added, releasing him and looking to the rest of their group. "Thank you all for everything you've done, I know it couldn't have been easy."

"If I had gotten to the White House minutes earlier-" Cooper began, but Liz shook her head.

"Diaz still would have said no."

Cooper locked eyes with the rest of the team, suddenly realizing nobody had told Liz of Diaz's change of heart. "He said yes."

She stood with her mouth agape, her voice rising by several decibels. "Diaz was going to give Red _clemency_?" She didn't think her heart could take the god-awful news that Raymond had been mere seconds away from freedom.

Cooper placed a calming hand on her shoulder, "No, merely a stay of execution to catch Ziegler's killer."

Liz scoffed, that explanation sounded a lot more like Diaz. "Wait, Ziegler's dead?"

"We forgot to mention it when you called," admitted Ressler with a grimace.

She gave him a placating half-smile, "I'll forgive you if I can get a glass of whatever you're drinking. Today has been hell, and I think I'm going to need a stiff drink for whatever comes next."

The tension in the room broke, and the taskforce shared a small, commiserating laugh.

Cooper pulled another dixie cup from the stack they'd brought in and the bottle of whiskey he had hidden in his desk, pouring a measure of the amber liquid and handing it to Liz.

Samar's voice cut the room with a note of exasperation. "My love, _what_ are you doing?"

Aram was scurrying around the small space, closing the blinds and setting up a small projector screen on the back wall. He put a finger to his lips, ensuring the office was dark and the equipment was properly setup before tapping into a complex-looking program on his laptop and placing a small black box at the base of the door.

"What is that?" Asked Ressler, pointing at the box with his plastic cup.

"It's a very powerful, very portable jammer," Aram explained, "Liz might recognize them from that time Anslo Garrick attacked the blacksite."

Liz balked at the little black box, "We didn't get to them all…"

"I kept this one..._For study,_" he clarified when the others all looked at him with varying levels of incredulity. "It now makes this room and anywhere within 1,000 feet of it a communications vacuum. If there is any kind of bug or transmission device within eavesdropping distance of this room, it is now officially offline."

"Why all the secrecy?" Samar questioned, peering thoughtfully at the box. She had not been here for the Garrick incident, but she found it quite amusing that her lover had weaponized the technology once used to bring the Post Office to its knees.

Aram glanced sheepishly up at the rest of them. "Well, um... Well, because I don't want there to be even the slightest possibility we are overheard. I don't trust those in charge…Diaz, McMahon, any of them, so I figured it's best to just take certain precautions."

"Well, we're all here and the room is secure. What is it you wanted to show us?" Cooper settled into his office chair with a weary yawn, the others falling into their respective seats as well.

"Right," Aram cleared his throat, "I was reviewing the footage from the penitentiary like you asked," he gestured toward Liz, "and I found something, something big."

Liz sat up a little straighter in her seat, " You saw who took Reddington?"

Aram nodded, "There's something else, though. The local pd in Terre Haute haven't been able to piece anything together because they've only been looking at the footage from the execution onward. Nobody's stopped to look at what happened _before_ the execution. If they had, they would have seen _this_."

He cut the lights and turned on the projector connected to his computer, the back wall of the room displaying the still image of a closed circuit feed. "This is the med staff lounge situated directly behind the execution chamber." Aram explained, dialing the footage back to 11:15 pm and hitting play.

"Look at this."

The taskforce watched as a middle age nurse carrying a tray of syringes through the lounge clumsily dropped the contents of the tray onto the floor.

"Watch her hands." Aram whispered, dialing the footage back again and letting it play at half the usual speed.

As the door of the room closed with a bang, they could finally catch the woman's sleight of hand. She tilted the tray and slid the three syringes into her right hand. Her left hand released the tray and dropped three different syringes onto the floor.

None of them could tear their eyes from the screen, silent and shell-shocked by the implications of this development.

The older of the two nurses bent to pick up the fallen syringes, amid what looked like a string of apologies from her counterpart. While the woman was bent over, the nurse with the tray surreptitiously slipped the syringes carrying the lethal injection into the nearby trash can.

"Aram?" Liz whispered, hoping against hope this meant what she thought it did.

"There's more." He pulled up the feed from the execution chamber and fast-forwarded to 12:02 AM. "As soon as that explosion occurred, they closed the curtain…"

Liz nodded frantically, willing Aram to get to the point.

"This was what happened after the curtain was closed."

The taskforce watched as the same blonde nurse moved from her place at the far wall, pulling four new, smaller syringes from the pocket of her scrubs and quickly began pushing them through Red's IV.

When she was caught by the warden, they all gasped in horror as she slipped a scalpel from her sleeve, lodged the weapon in the man's abdomen and kicked out, sending him bodily across the room.

The younger of the two remaining nurses screamed and tried to run, but the blonde nurse switched her grip and deftly flung the same scalpel into the fleeing woman's chest.

Liz couldn't believe what she was seeing as the older of the three nurses shrank into the far corner, not daring to move as the blonde woman Liz now suspected was most certainly _not_ a nurse, removed Red's restraints and carefully disconnected the various cords attached to him.

Five people dressed in black riot gear burst into the room carrying a military-style field gurney.

With practiced ease, they hoisted Reddington's limp form and situated him on the black canvas surface.

"Oh my God," Liz gasped, watching as they cut open the front of Red's shirt and strapped him into what she recognized as an autopulse CPR device.

One of them placed a bag valve mask over Reddington's face, administering four full, life-giving breaths into his lungs while the rest of the team strapped him into the gurney and started the autopulse. Once the device was compressing steadily up and down, the team lifted the gurney and hurried Red out of the room.

One of the people in riot gear stopped to hand a small canvas bag to the blonde woman, who removed her scrubs to reveal black jeans and a white t-shirt beneath.

She pulled a holster vest in a warm chestnut leather from the bag, a handgun already nestled in its hold. A thigh holster followed, fully loaded with another, slightly larger handgun. A pair of sharp blades were strapped to the underside of her forearms.

Armed to the teeth, she quickly followed the others out into the hall.

Aram switched the view to a dual-screen camera showing the hallway just outside the execution chamber and the one facing the wreckage of the detonation site, through which a large black suv could be seen.

They watched the woman stride purposefully through the hall, pulling out a dark honey-colored leather jacket and one last handgun, discarding the empty bag and donning the outerwear without missing a step.

She stopped in front of the hallway's camera, looking directly into the lens.

The taskforce got a good, long look at their suspect, who looked murderous as she racked a bullet into the chamber of her firearm before shoving it into a holster at the small of her back and leaving through the same hole in the wall.

Stepping out into the night, the woman watched in stoic silence as Reddington was gingerly loaded into the back of the suv, which appeared to have been converted into a makeshift ambulance.

The whole of Cooper's office minus Aram let out a collective gasp when a man they all recognized exited the passenger's side of the vehicle.

Dembe Zuma moved to the rear of the suv, throwing his arms around the blonde woman and gripping her in a vice-like hug. The pair stood there for a brief moment, Dembe's mouth moving in soundless words.

The taskforce watched as the extraction team closed up the rear of the suv.

Dembe's large hands cradled the woman's face, now showing long, glistening streaks cascading from her dark eyes. The bodyguard kissed her forehead repeatedly, tears falling along his usually impassive face as well.

The two seemed to bolster each other, nodding shakily and murmuring back and forth.

The woman cupped Dembe's chin, moving up to brush the trails of moisture from his eyes and placed a kiss to each of his cheeks before giving one final, firm nod.

The two climbed into the front of the vehicle, their extraction team standing on the running boards and holding onto the roof rails as the suv peeled out of the prison yard.

Aram glanced fretfully between the various shocked faces of his co-workers. "Mr. Reddington's Mercedes was found at the airstrip where Baz took Liz. Wherever Dembe is, he's with Red, and the woman."

The taskforce sat in stunned silence, staring at the frozen image of the renegade nurse on the screen.

Liz didn't dare hope. Her eyes turned imploringly up to Aram. "What does this mean?"

"I think," his voice shook anxiously, "I think Mr. Reddington might be alive."


	2. Sanctuary

Reddington woke to an odd, repetitive beeping sound.

He wished it would stop, his head was heavy and positively throbbing. Each resounding beep felt like an ice pick to his brain.

It occurred to Red that he very well might be dead.

Though, he couldn't say he truly felt like an opium pipe…and he certainly wasn't high.

He lay there, quietly attempting to piece together the execution and what followed.

The warden had come to fetch him with four guards in tow. They walked him down a long hallway and into the execution chamber. Two guards strapped him into the bed...'_Then what?_'

Red's brow creased in concentration. He could hear the warden reading a canned speech about his sentence, asking him if he had any last words.

He remembered two nurses setting up his IV's, a third wearing a surgical mask, came and taped his fist around a thick cylinder of gauze.

Raymond recalled the third woman quite fondly.

Normally, he would go out of his way to be charming and flirt with such a woman. She had looked like a fox in her scrubs, had cradled his hand so gently in her own.

And her eyes...

He had been caught off-guard by the color of her eyes.

With an internal groan, Raymond recalled besottedly mentioning his wife's eyes had been of the same hue.

A pang of disappointment hit his stomach at the thought.

Red had been secretly looking forward to the possibility of seeing his wife again, of finally finding out the truth of what happened all those years ago.

Yet he had never truly believed in the great fluffy-clouded, cherub-filled utopia in the sky. Even if there was one, he doubted his criminal record would permit him entry.

He nearly chuckled, though, as he considered his wife's rap sheet. Had anyone known of her existence, she would have been just as notorious as he. The woman had been a co-conspirator in most of his shenanigans since 1998, of which she readily reminded him whenever his back became bowed beneath the weight of his empire.

Raymond's lips twitched at the lovely memory.

_'Honestly, Raymond, we're both going to hell. The hand basket is a two-seater.' _

_'In the likely event we part this world at different times? What then, my dear?' _

_'I'll wait for you, darling.' _

He could still hear the smile in her voice, could feel the brush of her lips on his as she uttered that promise.

It seemed he would once again have to bide his time.

Red vaguely registered a soft rustling noise to his left. Perhaps it was Dembe?

_Dembe_.

Raymond couldn't remember much else from the execution, but he could clearly recall Dembe and Lizzie's faces staring from within the viewing room. The look in Lizzie's eyes had been torture. Dembe, at least, maintained his usual placid demeanor.

It would have been even more miserable if they had both been staring with that same helpless gaze. He wondered if they knew where he was, what happened to him.

Lizzie had told him she loved him that night, when she thought he was going to die.

Raymond did not usually take stock in dying declarations, they were often pretty lies told in the emotion of the moment. That being said, Lizzie's was not a declaration Red had ever thought he'd hear from her, not after bringing her so much pain and frustration.

His appearance in her life had been unavoidable, she was and continued to be in grave danger and he desperately needed answers. Red had told himself there was no other way.

He deeply regretted that when they'd finally met it had been under such dire circumstances… It wasn't supposed to have been that way.

Raymond was supposed to have come along once the dust had settled and the rubble cleared from his battle with the Cabal and those associated with the issue of Katarina Rostova. He was supposed to arrive on the wings of answers to every question Elizabeth had ever asked about herself.

Instead, he arrived hot on the heels of desperation and revenge, with the war he'd instigated having hardly begun.

Yet Lizzie had said she loved him.

Despite Red's misgivings about her being the one to turn him in, he couldn't deny he had taken some solace in the idea that, after all this time, after all this suffering, they had reached some kind of truce.

The small ruffling noise issued again from the left side of the bed, drawing him from his thoughts.

Behind his eyelids, Red could sense the pink and gold rays of sunshine radiating from somewhere in front of him. It was early morning, he deduced, still not opening his eyes.

He had died once or twice before, and this scenario did not conform to his previous glimpses into the beyond.

Raymond twitched his fingers and toes, testing to see if he could still feel anything. He was surprised to find his limbs were all intact and functional. The twitching, however, seemed to cause a bit of a commotion.

He heard a voice on his left gasp, then the scraping of a chair, light footsteps, and a door closing. The breeze that drifted to him from the open door carried the scent of wet earth and something vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

Raymond's mind conjured an echo of an equally familiar voice calling for Dembe.

"He can't hear you," he reminded out of sheer habit. The gravel in his voice made the sentence gruff and barely intelligible even to his own ears.

"Where the hell am I?"

Recognizing he now had a finite window of time to assess his situation, Red opened his eyes.

The bright morning sun made it difficult to see at first. His hand came heavily up to shield his eyes as they adjusted to the abrupt change.

A bedroom emerged from the blinding light as he blearily took in his surroundings.

Dark beams ran the length and width of the ceiling, connecting to walls dressed in a clean white shiplap. The sun was glaring through three large floor-to-ceiling panels of center-pivot windows taking up the majority of the wall facing the bed. A few of the panes had been tilted outward to tempt a light breeze which gently rustled the curtains.

The huge bed he lay in was soft and warm. Red saw he was covered by crisp white sheets and a sage green cotton blanket, the muted taupe comforter was folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

He noticed the newly vacated wooden chair beside the bed held a tattered copy of '_The Age of Innocence_.' He couldn't help but smile at the sight. Edith Wharton was not usually Dembe's author of choice.

The infernal beeping noise continued from a nearby nightstand, on which a heart monitor sat.

He was definitely alive then. If Raymond were dead, there would be no need for its incessant noise. He briefly considered removing the cords from his body, but the sound of another door closing on the floor below gave him pause.

Multiple pairs of heavy footsteps climbed the iron staircase spiraling up to the master suite. Dembe emerged from the opening on Red's right, followed by two medical personnel dressed in scrubs.

"Dembe," he rasped, reaching a hand out to the younger man who immediately took it and gave it a squeeze, leaning to pull him into a bear hug.

Dembe beamed down at his comrade, "It is good to see you well, Raymond."

Red slowly shifted so he was sitting up, "I can't deny I'm baffled as to how I got here." He cleared his throat and took another interested glance at his surroundings. "This is the kind of place she would have come up with."

Dembe carefully avoided the man's gaze, instead taking the seat on his left, setting the abandoned book on the nearby nightstand, turning toward the lead physician and doling out an expectant stare.

"Mr. Reddington, Welcome Back!"

Raymond recognized the man as the head of his code 77 team, causing his head to tilt in curiosity. "I don't mean to be ungrateful, but…What happened? My memory is incredibly fuzzy, and frankly, I feel like I've been run over by the entire Naval marching band."

The doctor let out a small chuckle and deferred to Dembe.

"We put a nurse on the inside, Raymond."

Red's brows immediately shot to his hairline, his lips pursing in a tight line, "Why didn't you tell me?"

He didn't begrudge the man what needed to be done, but Raymond wasn't used to being kept out of the loop.

Dembe's face fell apologetically, "I'm sorry, Raymond. We couldn't risk anyone finding out what we were up to. Swapping out a nurse on a high-profile execution such as yours took a great deal of stealth. If someone had breathed even a word of our plan, we would have lost you."

"What did this nurse do?" Raymond's hand moved surreptitiously toward his sternum which was a tad sore.

The secondary physician immediately began his examination, checking Reddington's blood pressure, heart rate, and overall condition.

The lead surgeon responded to his question, "She swapped the lethal injections to one which only temporarily stopped your heart. Once the drug was administered, your team created a diversion, she administered the counteracting injections. Your heart was completely stopped just under 60 seconds. Once we got you on the gurney and ready for extraction, we had a medic supply you with oxygen before starting the autopulse, which provided you with continuous CPR. That's why you'll find there's a bit of tenderness in your chest."

Red nodded curtly, his hand dropping from the place in question where he had admittedly been fidgeting. "How long was I out?"

"We kept you on the autopulse until we reached the highway, approximately ten minutes from the breach. Within another two minutes, your heart was successfully restarted. It has been just over two days since the execution."

Raymond's eyes narrowed. Unfortunately for them, he was well aware of how little time it took to regain consciousness after having one's heart restarted. "Why, pray tell, was I unconscious for two days?"

The second physician piped in, "We needed to ensure you took enough time for your heart to fully recover, so we gave you a…small…um, sedative." The younger man trailed off, blanching when Red gave him a stout, appraising look. They had been warned he would not appreciate that bit of news.

"The- _ahem_\- the good news is your heartbeat is strong, all your vitals look great. You're cleared for most activity, just no sprinting or heavy lifting."

Red gave the man a reprieve from his icy stare, nearly snorting with laughter. "You have my word I won't be jogging circles around this place. Though, I'm sure I'll get to take lots of long, aimless walks to celebrate my new lease on life?"

The lead physician chuckled, "Yes, Mr. Reddington, you will need to take a handful of walks each day for the next few weeks. It's necessary to ensure your cardiac system continues to recover from the restart. Should you need anything or have any issues, we will be in a cabin just down the road."

"Thank you, both of you." Reddington shook hands with both physicians before they excused themselves to head back downstairs and out of the cabin.

Red turned immediately to his companion, "Dembe, where on God's green earth are we?"

"An island off of Georgetown, Maine." Dembe's voice was calm and placating, seeing Red's mind immediately firing into action.

"We've been here two days already, that's too long to be in one spot, especially with the FBI and the CIA and all the other acronyms undoubtedly trying to hunt me down."

Dembe shook his head, placing a firm hand on Red's shoulder when he tried to rise from the bed. "This island is roughly 20 miles from the nearest town and only accessible by boat or seaplane. Nobody knows we are here. It is quite safe."

"Nobody knows? Not even the taskforce?"

Dembe shook his head once more.

Reddington relaxed visibly, grateful that, for now, they seemed to be sheltered. "Who does this place belong to?" He asked, though he was certain he already knew the answer.

"The whole island is run as part of the Citadel's blacksite network."

Raymond sat up a little straighter, taking another furtive glance around the room. "So this was one of her sites…I take it, then, the taskforce found the new Citadel?"

Dembe shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "No, the Citadel found me."

Raymond's eyes crinkled at this, "I set Harold and the whole brigade on the Citadel's trail and you quietly swoop in and do business with him?" He tutted his scorn through an impish grin, "That sounds an awful lot like something I would do."

Dembe looked down at the bed with a wry smile, "It was our only option, Raymond."

"I don't doubt it, and I certainly don't hold it against you. It seems I owe you my life yet again, my friend."

"You owe me nothing, brother." Dembe lifted his gaze, his soulful dark eyes boring into Red, "I would do it a thousand times over to keep you from such a fate."

A heavy silence hung about the room, regularly interrupted by the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

"Can't we shut that damn thing off?" Raymond grumbled, "I'm definitely alive, I doubt it's necessary anymore."

Dembe stood with a dry chuckle and flipped the power switch, effectively silencing the machine.

Red let out a contented sigh at the blissful sound of silence and turned back to his guard and friend. "So, what did the Citadel want in exchange for putting us up in one of their deepest hidey-holes?"

Dembe's mouth tightened minutely, "A meeting with you."

Raymond scoffed aloud, "That can't be all."

His counterpart shrugged, "It was the only stipulation the Citadel had." The younger man could tell Raymond was not appeased by this, finding the whole arrangement a tad fishy. "Everything will be explained in a few short hours," he placated, "We are safe here. Please trust me on this, Raymond."

Red stared intently at Dembe, reading his features. Dembe would tell him if there was any immediate danger. He would recognize it right away and he certainly would have checked the Citadel's motives before hopping in bed together. He could trust Dembe.

Raymond would always trust Dembe.

A smile broke across Reddington's face. "Alright, I'll let it go for now," he added, "Are we going to celebrate my miraculous recovery?"

Dembe perked up at this, "What did you have in mind?"

A soft '_hmm_' escaped Reddington's throat as he considered what he wanted. "What I wouldn't give for some beluga caviar and that Russian Plov you two made back in Chicago all those years ago. Oh! And that one honey cake, _medovik_. Nearly dying once again has me absolutely famished. The last thing I ate was a horrific rendition of cabbage soup and dressed herring and I would gladly sell off various body parts to get that taste out of my mouth."

Dembe nodded with an indulgent smile, "I'll see what I can do about the plov. Breakfast is waiting for you downstairs, it will soothe your craving for caviar at the very least."

Red's expression brightened with boyish delight, wasting no time in rising from the bed. "Son of a bitch," he growled seconds later, the tightness in his back and legs from laying flat for two days making itself known. He moved to remove the IV still attached to his arm when Dembe's voice cut pointedly across him.

"Finish the IV."

A petulant glare was Raymond's only response.

Dembe waved him toward the ensuite, completely unfazed by his the daggers being shot his way. "Go, I'll have breakfast waiting once you're finished. You are supposed to take it easy today."

Eventually, Reddington gave in, snatching the half-full IV bag from its stand and carrying it with him. A low, unintelligible grumble could be heard while he padded stiffly toward the bath, intent on freshening up.

The ensuite was tucked neatly behind the back wall of the master bedroom. The space was clean and inviting, bearing the same wide plank floors as the bedroom, stained in a deep honey color. The same white shiplap covered the walls, stretching the length of the long, narrow room. The light pouring in from small windows up by the ceiling made the room nearly glow with refracted sunbeams.

Red turned left, making a straight line for the loo. After relieving himself, the man shuffled to the narrow porcelain sink and washed his hands. He glanced surreptitiously up into the tall mirror in front of him before splashing a bit of water in his face.

He looked like hell.

Though, Raymond supposed yet another dance with the reaper would do that to any man.

He spared a sidelong look for the pristine glass shower to his right as he dried his face. A long, piping hot shower sounded heavenly. His fingers scratched through the new growth covering his cheeks and chin, the stubble making him instantaneously yearn for a hot towel and a nice, close shave.

His stomach chose that moment to give an almighty growl.

Both would have to wait.

Raymond stepped out of the bath to a most decadent surprise. A small table and two chairs had been brought up, the former bearing a tray loaded down with delicious fare. He grabbed the robe which had been left draped across the bed for him and wrapped it about himself before settling into one of the chairs.

The man sighed his approval of the spread with an undisguised grin.

There were thick slices of toasted sourdough with various little pots of marmalade and a small plate of crispy thick cut bacon. An oblong bowl sat in the middle, bursting with a variety of sliced fruits from honey babe peaches and forelle pears, to balled dragonfruit and wild blackberries.

A low rumbling hum of satisfaction tumbled in Raymond's throat as his eyes fell upon the chef d'œuvre, two delicate egg cups each holding a little brown egg topped with a swirl of vodka cream and a healthy dollop of caviar each.

"God bless the Jean-Georges egg," came Red's emphatic declaration as Dembe ascended the stairs with a pot of tea and the newspaper.

The pair shared a quiet breakfast beside the wall of windows, with Red ravenously devouring his eggs and Dembe amusedly stealing his blackberries.

Raymond always enjoyed the meal after a brawl with mortal peril. Everything tasted new, as though he'd never eaten an egg in his life and was just discovering how delicious they could be.

When he'd finally had his fill and sat back sipping a nice warm cup of lemon darjeeling, Dembe handed him the paper.

'_Chaos and Intrigue in Terre Haute_.'

Reddington laughed aloud at the headline, readily unfurling the article to read what the world thought had become of him.

"I will be back this afternoon," Dembe interrupted, "I've got a few loose ends to tie up with your disappearance."

Red lowered the paper, his expression curious. "Loose ends?"

The other man nodded, standing to take his leave with an impish grin. "We laid a number of false trails using decoys. I want to make sure the FBI, the CIA, and all the other acronyms are nice and busy chasing those instead of you."

Raymond laughed again, shaking his head and diving back into the paper.

Dembe's deep voice could be heard from the spiral staircase as he left. "Chuck and Morgan are outside should you need anything. I'll be back around four."

'_Chaos and Intrigue in Terre Haute.'_

_Federal investigators have been reeling these past forty-eight hours as the notorious criminal mastermind, Raymond Reddington, mysteriously disappeared from the execution chamber at Terre Haute Federal Penitentiary just moments after his heart stopped beating. _

_Reddington's backstory is quite well-known. An illustrious naval officer, Reddington graduated first in his class at the U.S. Naval Academy and was soon being groomed for Admiral when he disappeared in December, 1990, leaving behind his wife and young daughter. _

_Four years later, an arsenal of NOFORN documents turned up in a variety of unsavory places…all leading back to Raymond_ _Reddington._

_Since then, Reddington has been on the brokering end of some of the most heinous criminal activity the world has ever seen. From London, to Maghreb, Hong Kong to Buenos Aires, there isn't a corner of the globe which doesn't bear the mark of Raymond Reddington's criminal empire. _

_His reign as 'The Concierge of Crime' was due to end at 12:01 Tuesday morning, as sentenced by the honorable Judge Roberta Wilkins. However, at approximately 12:03 am, an explosion rocked the southernmost wall of Terre Haute Federal Penitentiary, blasting a 20x12 hole in the brick and concrete structure. _

_Witnesses reported a tactical team decked out in black riot gear extracted Reddington from the execution chamber with military precision just seconds after the explosion. _

_The FBI seems to believe there was an accomplice with Reddington on the inside. Their search is ongoing, but local authorities revealed their main suspect is a middle-aged blonde female who was seen leaving the scene with Reddington in tow... _

"Ah, yes, the nurse…"

Raymond was very curious about their inside hand. She had to have been someone Dembe trusted implicitly, but then, wouldn't Red know her as well? There were precious few people that one of them knew and the other did not, it was simply the nature of their life on the run together.

There was no photo of the woman, which Red supposed was a good thing. It meant the authorities had little to go off of, and hopefully no clear shot of the woman's features.

Eventually, he would insist Dembe introduce him to the woman who saved his life. Help and loyalty in a time of utmost need against dire odds were traits to be rewarded. Raymond would not be curtailed from expressing his gratitude. Besides, an amoral nurse could be a highly beneficial addition to his arsenal of associates.

Red continued reading, having a good long laugh at the goose chase which seemed to have ensued upon his disappearance. The article went on to speculate about the woman seen leaving the scene and ended with a few ham-fisted allusions to the possibility that he was alive and in hiding somewhere.

Raymond finished the paper in buoyant spirits and folded it neatly on the abandoned tray. He could all but hear the ensuite calling to him.

Padding over to the bath, he took a right. At the far end of the room, Red reached into the shower's glass enclosure and started the water before discarding his sleepwear.

Making his way to the sink, he opened the cabinet behind the mirror in search of his necessities. His own tried and true possessions were within, from his favored shaving supplies right down to his toothbrush and his favored cologne. "Good man, Dembe," he muttered to himself, taking out the trove of items and setting them in a neat row along the sink's edge.

Once the shower was beginning to fog over with steam, Red stepped into its confines, letting out a contented hiss as the cleansing water cascaded down his frame. He turned the tap as hot as he could stand and stood beneath the spray for several long minutes, hoping to wash away as much of the past few days as possible.

Raymond had genuinely believed the luck he'd made for himself had finally run out.

The Concierge of Crime had long come to terms with dying, had grown to expect it in many ways. One couldn't do as well as he had in the shoes of a criminal by being afraid of death. The end would come for all eventually, regardless of occupation.

That being said, the night of his execution had felt like it was well and truly his last. Red had made his peace with that fate.

Yet, as always, the powers that be seemed content to let Raymond Reddington walk this earth a little while longer. The man let out a derisive laugh, certain his continued existence was solely for the amusement of some crude, forgotten deity.

Still, he ought not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Red wasn't sure what to make of this new Citadel character and the person's involvement in his escape. He was biased, certainly, having been…well, that was another story entirely.

A stand-in could never take the place of the original Citadel, who actually built the fabled network in which Raymond was now safely sequestered. He was wary of this arrangement and what would be expected of him in return, and rightfully so.

Red was not about to enter into a similar arrangement as what he'd had with the previous Citadel.

It took a great deal of time, effort, and trust to achieve that kind of partnership. He had no interest in pursuing such a precarious engagement again.

Red stretched the stiffness from his limbs, opening half-lidded eyes as he continued to contemplate his situation.

Turning toward the back wall, he noticed a set of shallow built-in shelves bearing an array of very familiar-looking bottles.

"Oh, tell me this is what I think it is."

He plucked one of the bottles from the shelf and popped its cap, taking a sniff at its contents. "My God, how long has it been?" He sighed luxuriously, wasting no time in squeezing a generous dollop into his palm. He hadn't smelled this particular scent in years, having long since run out of his last bottle. If the Citadel would be good for one thing, it would be finding out where the hell this array of soaps came from, as Raymond was certain he'd scoured the globe for the elusive scent to no avail.

Red lathered himself from head to toe with a serene smile, happy as a clam with his find and already planning to pilfer the little green bottles.

Soapy hands halted their movement when the man took a moment to properly look at the shower fixture.

It, too, looked awfully familiar.

He hadn't been in this safehouse before, he was certain. Of all the blacksites they had been to over the years, not a one was in New England.

Then why did the fixture look so familiar?

Kentucky, Norway, Nairobi, Tokyo…the list of Citadel safehouses he had stayed in spanned six continents and well over two dozen countries, but this-

Then it hit him.

Red realized the shower's hardware looked familiar because he was there when this property was originally purchased and developed.

They had been laying low in a black site in the wilds of Kentucky after that altercation with Fidel Castro.

...She stole the man's Cohibas.

Red couldn't help the low, roguish laugh rumbling in his chest as his mind readily supplied the pleasant memories.

He had been there while she fussed over this damn shower, the desalination well he knew was in the shed on the east side of the property, and the water-propelled generators nestled beside the dry dock he recalled sitting at the northern edge of the island.

Raymond remembered it like it was yesterday.

The low light of the moon, her ankles crossed on the headboard…

He could hear that mischievous little laugh as she instigated borderline anarchy from thousands of miles away without so much as lifting a finger.

A smile tugged relentlessly at Red's mouth as he washed the suds from his person, recalling with increasing fondness the Citadel who built this house and picked that fixture and made his life so damn comfortable for so many years.

He missed that Citadel. He missed _her_.

Raymond stood beneath the shower's cleansing spray once more, assuaging himself with recollections of a more pleasant sort.

Once he had been soaped and scrubbed and rinsed within an inch of his life, Red switched off the taps and stepped out of the enclosure feeling almost like a new man. He grabbed a large towel from the nearby rack and patted himself dry, pleased to find the fluffy cotton toasty warm. He let out a satisfied sigh before wrapping the item around his waist and making his way to the sink.

The large mirror was anti-fog, allowing him to move right along to his shave. He popped the tin on his shave cream, working up a rich lather and applying it liberally to his cheeks, chin, and the space below his jaw. With practiced ease, he flipped open his straight-edge razor and made the first stroke along his cheek.

As Red settled into the familiar routine, he fell into a more purposeful mood, mentally calculating his next moves. He needed to catalogue the most pressing issues and decide how to move forward after this latest debacle.

The conspiracy against the U.S. Government was still in play, but the chaos with Ziegler and his own disappearance would slow things down a bit for Diaz. According to the paper, the White House was doing everything in their power to assist the Germans in their investigation of Ziegler's death. This was no doubt due to some meddling by Harold Cooper, for which Red was grateful.

The thought of Harold brought up another unavoidable issue. It was only a matter of time before Raymond's continued existence reached the powers that be, and it wouldn't be long after that the taskforce would be forced to go on the hunt for him. This didn't bother Red in the slightest, though he did not relish making their lives too terribly unpleasant.

Red hadn't become one of the longest-running criminals in the world by pure chance. He had made his life and livelihood out of staying ten steps ahead of everyone else, and was not about to bend that for their sakes. Law enforcement the world over could search till they were at their wits' end, but Raymond Reddington would only turn up if and when he wanted to be found.

The cold truth of the matter was if he went back now, without leverage, Diaz and that harridan Anna McMahon would go right back to putting him down like a rabid dog.

Having escaped by the very skin of his teeth the first time, Raymond had no interest in putting himself in the hands of the U.S. Justice system ever again.

No, he would need to retreat into the shadows for a time, shore up his empire and think his way out. His considerable wealth and influence would allow him to bunker down for a brief stint and consider his options.

At the moment, there was no conceivable way for Red to continue his work with Lizzie and the others, and thus the basis of the whole operation was gone. In taking a step back, he ran the risk of Harold's team being shut down.

Red carefully turned the razor to begin making short, smooth strokes up his neck and toward his chin. The proximity to his pulse point brought back another far more pressing matter than the fate of the taskforce.

Raymond still did not know who turned him in.

He had been so sure it had been Lizzie, but in the end she had helped him in every way possible, in the end she had told him she loved him. That had to count for something, he told himself. That must mean she didn't do it, no matter how much his gut was telling him it was her.

Red would continue to wheel and deal in the criminal underground in the interim, hopefully uncovering information of significant enough value to barter once again for immunity, but before that could happen he had to unearth the traitor in his midst. Until then, no-one was safe.

Lizzie would be under guard as always, though she did not know it. Without a time of death, Raymond knew the protocols he'd put in place had not been triggered, so she was safe and blissfully unaware of the truth about who Red was.

She would be fine.

The taskforce would be fine.

Just as he had when Anslo Garrick stormed the Post Office, Raymond would become a ghost. He would clean house, unearth the bad blood, then he could put his efforts back into the blacklist.

Red realized losing access to the FBI's databases and manpower would set him back a long way in his plans. The fact remained that Raymond couldn't just disappear quietly into the sunset.

Not yet.

He wasn't finished with his blacklist. There were questions which remained unanswered and truths which still stood unattainable. What little remaining things the man held dear were still in jeopardy.

Red remained pensive as he strode back into the master bedroom, vaguely wondering where the rest of his personal effects were. His mouth pursed thoughtfully as he looked about the room, eyes falling on the headboard of the bed, which hid a small garment closet built behind it. Inside, he recognized his own garment bag and a pair of polished black boots. His battle-weary suitcase sat alongside the nightstand as well, its polished brass clasps glinting in the low light.

Raymond lifted both items and deposited them on the bedspread, opening each in turn. He caught the outline of a photograph tucked neatly in the suitcase's lid, one of several which had been accumulated over the years. Red habitually reached out and brushed his thumb over a corner of the photo, the action having long since become a compulsion. He had worn away part of the image with this action over the years, though it was nowhere near as tattered and worn as the one he usually carried in his waistcoat pocket.

The man made a mental note to have Dembe get that photo back from Terre Haute. The federal penitentiary could keep the rest of his confiscated belongings as far as he was concerned, but that one small item needed to be recovered.

Raymond pulled the necessities from his luggage, laying out socks, an undershirt and the like neatly on the bedspread. A freshly dry-cleaned dress shirt and a deep indigo Zegna tie lay beside a jet black waistcoat and a pair of neat charcoal slacks. He donned his customary attire piece by piece, feeling more and more like himself with each layer. The suit wrapped around him like battle armor, bolstering his resolve as he mentally compiled the list of next steps and sorted them by priority. Stepping over to the other side of the bed, where a large mirror stood, he set about tying his tie. When the knot met his approval, Red smoothed his hand down the length of silk and commenced fastening his waistcoat. Upon reaching the last button, his head turned to peer surreptitiously at the abandoned book on the nearby nightstand.

Its bright red cover was a little worn, the once-sharp corners were blunted from being occasionally crammed into a bag or suitcase. The swirling curvature of its stark black title had turned a dull gray. The tome had certainly seen better days, but Raymond couldn't help a small flicker of sentimentality as he lifted the hardcover and flipped it open.

It was just past noon...he had time for a quick read, time enough for this.

He rifled through the book absent-mindedly, falling upon a creased page a handful of chapters in and seeing a sentence circled in slightly smudged graphite.

'_I felt there was no one as kind as you; no one who gave me reasons that I understood for doing what at first seemed so hard and—unnecessary._'

The book was like a time capsule, favourite passages meticulously noted, bearing all manner of dog-eared corners and the faded scribblings of a pencil from its previous owner.

A rueful smile graced his lips, "I nearly forgot," he murmured to himself, flipping to the very beginning of the text. He settled back on top the bedspread, his back resting against the headboard as he fell into the text.

An hour or so passed peacefully, interrupted periodically with a chuckle or two from the bedroom's sole occupant as he happened upon notes and markings every few pages. There were passages that amused him to no end and passages that made the man's soul burn with an abiding ache.

'_The longing was with him day and night, an incessant undefinable craving...He simply felt that if he could carry away the vision of the spot of earth she walked on, and the way the sky and sea enclosed it, the rest of the world might seem less empty…_'

Raymond soon felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. The words on the page slowly began to blur into a black haze set against the yellowing page.

Dembe returned at sunset to move Raymond to a new cabin deeper in the woods. He found the man dozing in the master bedroom, his head resting against the bed's headboard at an uncomfortable-looking angle. A small smile twitched at the bodyguard's lips, seeing the book resting in Red's lap.

"Raymond."

The sleeping fugitive's head snapped forward as he blinked the room back into focus. "Hmm…?" His voice was gravelled and drowsy as he searched for the source of the disturbance.

"It is time."

"Remind me why we're doing this again?" Raymond asked minutes later, carefully making his way down the spiral staircase to the cabin's main floor. The lower level was similarly clad in white shiplap, a quaint little kitchen and spare bedroom and bath occupying the rear of the space. He observed the space with curiosity, turning about in a circle before seeing his heavy winter parka with its fur-lined hood hung waiting for him beside the cabin's door. A jet black fedora hung next to it, and Raymond placed the familiar accessory on his pate with a sigh of contentment.

"The main cabin is deeper in the woods and has more room." Dembe explained, "You will be able to move more freely there. It is important for you to get outside and move around while you recover."

Once they were both thoroughly bundled up against the harsh New England chill, he and Dembe stepped out of the cabin onto a narrow wooden plank walkway.

The world outside the cabin looked like something out of a Christmas television special. Tall gnarled pine and oak trees dotted the area around the cabin, their sprawling branches heavily laden with snow.

The white down covered every available surface, glistening orange in places where the setting sun was visible through the trees.

Red understood what Dembe meant as they boarded a large off-road vehicle and trundled up the dirt road into a much more dense forest area. The canopy of trees high above them would block anything on the ground from sight, providing a much more secure hideout than the slightly exposed cabin they were in.

They pulled up to a pair of snow-capped treehouse cabins 10-20 feet off the ground. A wood plank ramp lead from the gravel parking area up to the first cabin, a two-floor structure exactly like the one they had just been in.

Raymond marveled at the view as they disembarked and made their way up the snowy ramp.

A small plank bridge connected the main cabin and another single level cabin with a quaint patio attached. Another bridge lead to a smaller platform on which sat a cozy little wood-fired tub.

Red grinned at the home. In all, he thought it would be great fun to convalesce in such an abode.

When he hung his coat and hat in the kitchen of the main cabin, Raymond smelled the wonderfully familiar scent of Russian Plov on the air. He positively roared with laughter, wasting no time in making his way to the stove. "Oh, Dembe, _bless you, _my good man."

Dembe smiled nervously in response, depositing Red's personal effects in the nearby closet.

Red cocked his head to the side, catching the other man's peculiar response. "What is it, Dembe?"

The normally stoic man was distinctly fidgety, jamming his large hands in the pockets of his dark jeans and biting his bottom lip. It was an action Raymond hadn't seen him do in years.

"It is time for you and the Citadel to meet."

Raymond's mouth pursed has he considered him for a moment, "It can't wait?" he asked, glancing wistfully at the cast iron Dutch oven releasing mouth-watering curls of steam. "There's plov."

Dembe's face showed an inordinate amount of anxiety. "Trust me Raymond. You don't want to wait."

A trickle of doubt dropped into Red's stomach. Dembe was keeping something from him, something important.

"Why?"

"You do not want to wait." He repeated, in a cryptic tone belying the smallest of tremors. "There are questions I could not answer for you this morning. The Citadel has all the answers you seek."

Red scoffed with a dry chuckle, "_Not all,_" he mumbled, his clever green eyes surveying his companion once more.

Dembe's eyes were imploring, his expression honest and sincere as he held Raymond's scrutinizing gaze.

"Okay. Let's meet this Citadel, then."

Popping the lid back onto the dish, Red followed Dembe out onto the deck. Night had almost completely fallen. The few remaining golden spindles of sunlight came dazzling through the treetops as he lead them across the first plank bridge to the smaller cabin.

Raymond could now see that the cabin held a comfortable sitting room which faced a wall of center-pivot windows. The wall sconces bathed the room in a warm light which fell upon the figure of a woman. She was seated in an armchair facing away from the door.

"That's the Citadel?" He asked, his throat inexplicably dry.

Dembe moved to stand guard next to the door. He took a deep, steadying breath and reached out to grasp Red's shoulder. "Trust me, brother."

Red glanced at the young man once more, eyes sharp with confusion and wariness. Without another thought, he turned the doorknob and stepped into the room.

Time seemed to halt when the air in the room washed over his skin. Raymond's heart thrummed in hopeful recognition. His entire body seemed to sense a shift in the atmosphere, a palpable change in the ions surrounding him.

The way her hair fell on her shoulders.

The way she occupied her chair.

The straight, delicate line of her shoulders.

Everything about the woman seemed familiar, as if Raymond had spent decades memorizing her.

His footsteps were slow and halting as he moved further into the room. He turned back to see Dembe solemnly observing the proceedings through the glass door.

Could he…

Could he see her too?

Raymond whipped his head around and halted just behind the chair she was in. He could see the rise and fall of every breath she took. She looked...but she couldn't be.

He couldn't stop his hand as it slowly reached forward, trembling visibly as it hovered over the woman's shoulder, hopeful, waiting. His fingertips hesitated, following the small expanse of bare flesh exposed by the neckline of her sweater.

Please.

God..._Please_.

The very tip of his middle finger ghosted along the soft warmth of her skin.

The action elicited a tremulous gasp from the woman in the chair.

Raymond snatched his hand back for a millisecond before the appendage surged forward of its own accord, the whole of his large palm pressing against the wondrous feeling.

The feminine frame shivered in his grasp. He could feel her pulse fluttering like a frightened rabbit beneath his fingertips.

He couldn't stand it, not one second more.

Raymond stepped forward, coming level with her side. His eyes widened, as he saw her face. His mouth parted, sharp bursting gasps of air leaving his lungs.

The woman lifted her head to meet his gaze.

Her eyes.

His mind went hurtling back twenty years.

An entire world, an entire life came roaring back to him when he saw her eyes.

"...Rosalie?"


	3. A Promising Asset

_21 years earlier, August, 1998._

It was a gorgeous summers day in the Miraflores area of Madrid. The town sat peacefully among the trees, a gentle breeze bringing the scent of bluebell flowers into every home. The majority of the heavenly scent was coming from an unsuspecting villa on the corner of town. Like many of the properties in the area, the villa was built out of stone, with a lovely red terracotta roof. The fenced-in courtyard held little gardens of boxwood and spanish bluebell as well as a walkway framed by Italian cypress trees. There was nothing suspicious or odd about the place, and that was exactly how it was supposed to be; because the villa's occupants were out of the ordinary, and highly suspect.

One of these occupants was Raymond Reddington, The Concierge of Crime, who was enjoying a cigar on the patio extending from the villa's lavish lounge. Smoke curled around him as he scanned the peaceful horizon. The town was currently reeling in a scandal of his own creation, as a variety of valuable banknotes had gone missing that very morning. They would soon be used to further fund his criminal empire. But first, Reddington wanted to know how he could get his hands on one of these villas.

He called into the lounge, "I must say, Howard, you've outdone yourself on the location this time. What foreign secretary's secretary did you have to bribe to get this place?"

Howard Hargrave, Reddington's accomplice in the heist, laughed as he poured two fingers of scotch into a heavy crystal glass. "I'll have you know I neither bribed nor blackmailed, thank you very much. I've been trying out a new proprietor for safehouses while abroad. She's turning out to be an invaluable asset."

He joined Reddington on the patio, "She's reliable, discreet, and unbelievably thorough. Any safehouse in her network can be equipped, at any moment, to your exact specifications. From groceries to ammunition to safe passage out of the country, should you need it…"

Reddington peered curiously at his companion, "Well, are you going to divulge your new mistress of the house or are you keeping her to yourself? Mind, I don't see Scottie as the sharing type."

Howard snorted dryly, "Scottie dislikes her. Aside from being young and good looking, the girl is like you, viciously intelligent and irritatingly confident."

"Traits which are bound to incur Scottie's ire, I'm sure," Red smirked knowingly.

Howard shrugged his shoulders, "In truth, I think she could be more valuable to your network than my own. I believe you would work well together. It would bolster her business and take some of the burden off of yours."

Reddington met his eyes with a wry smile, "If I didn't know any better, Howard, I would accuse you of trying to set me up on a blind date. Not unlike that time in Bratislava with the Italian girl who insisted we were in Belarus."

Howard roared with laughter at this, "by God, she was beautiful though, the waist on her…" he shook his head, getting lost in the memory for a moment as he finished his drink.

He looked seriously at Reddington, "This woman, she has the potential to change the landscape for criminals moving throughout the world. It would behoove all of us to keep her considerable talents away from the likes of drug lords and terrorists."

Reddington nodded thoughtfully, staring into his glass. "Well, Howard, I'll reach out to her, see if we can't strike a deal. I can't deny having a more comprehensive network of safe houses would make conducting my business much easier."

Howard popped a cigar in his mouth and started lighting it, "Excellent."

"You should find her in Argentina. She was flying there this week to complete an acquisition for a new safehouse in Patagonia under the alias Renata Alder. I know her as Rosalie."

Back in his room that night, Reddington made a call to one of his associates.

"Kate, I have a task for you…"

Grinning, Renata Alder tore down the dirt roads west of Bariloche in a Mercedes G500 Cabrio. The top was open and her blonde hair fanned out behind her as she put the vehicle through its paces. Whipping around a hairpin turn and tearing up the drive, she found the place she was looking for.

A flimsy 'For Sale' sign hung on a dilapidated fencepost, marking the entrance to an overgrown property. Renata threw the car in park and stepped out onto the road, her black boots crunching against the pebbled drive. After climbing the rusty cattle fence that blocked the path, and grumbling at the rust that coated her hands, she finally reached the clearing. A man in a four-runner trundled toward her, flashing a set of brilliantly white teeth. Renata pursed her lips in annoyance. Real estate agents were a necessary evil in her line of work, but that didn't make them any less tiresome. Switching off the engine, the man climbed off the vehicle and extended a hand to her.

The realtor walked the clearing with her, gesturing emphatically at the views and the property borders in the distance as he rambled on in rapid Castellano. The property was in truth magnificent, and tucked far enough from the main roads to be a viable blacksite for her network. As she was running the numbers for building a safehouse on the lot, Renata's satellite phone rang.

Her accountant's voice echoed through the connection, "The funds are ready to move, but you've gotta get out of there."

Renata frowned, "I'm about to close the deal, what's the rush, Lu?"

"The rush is that some big shot dispatched his cleaner to your location."

"What the hell?" said Renata, flagging down the realtor to get the paperwork started. She signed her name on page after page of documents as Luli explained what intel she had mistakenly come across.

"If he is sending his cleaner ahead of him…" she said seriously,

"I doubt it's a social call." Renata agreed.

"What did you do?" Luli asked accusingly.

"I haven't the foggiest idea whose wrath I've incurred this time."

"I don't know who this guy is but I don't recommend waiting to find out,"

"Yeah, I'm on it, wire the funds to complete the purchase, I'm heading to the nearest airstrip." She snapped the phone shut and shook hands with the realtor once again before heading for the car.

Mr. Kaplan was following Raymond's lead on the innkeeper's location when a grey suv with no top came hurtling past her down the hillside. She only caught a brief glimpse of the driver, a head of curly blonde hair and dark sunglasses. Kate pursed her lips as she realized the woman matched the description of the innkeeper she was looking for. Turning the car with a sigh, she started heading back down the hillside.

Renata watched as the black sedan turned around and pursued her. She smirked and punched the accelerator, shifting like mad. The little suv tore through Bariloche, conveniently ignored by local police, and headed toward a private airport.

Ditching her ride in a hangar, Renata hoisted her backpack out of the trunk and jogged to the nearest plane. She conversed with the pilot in fluent Castellano and coaxed him into taking her over the border into Chile. From there, she could arrange better transport. After a little bribery he agreed and kicked the little two-prop plane into life.

As the plane left the ground, Renata giggled to herself. Far below, the black car pulled into the airstrip and a petite woman with dark hair stepped out to stare at the plane.

Kate called Raymond, "Your innkeeper is going to be a little difficult to catch," she told him.

He laughed, already intrigued. "Excellent, I _love_ hide and seek."

_3 weeks later_

Reddington had to admit, he was impressed that she had evaded him this long.

Normally, having to chase down a potential ally would put Raymond into a towering temper. However, as the weeks carried on and Howard's innkeeper remained elusive, Red found himself looking forward to their little game of cat and mouse. Each day he would receive word from his associates regarding what countries they had chased her across, and each day he would listen with poorly disguised amusement at how she had outwitted them all.

As enjoyable as their game had been, however, he felt it was time for the two of them to meet. He and his team had quietly entered Brazil the night before, setting up operations in the hotel across from her intended location. Finally, they had gotten a step ahead of her, and as word reached Red that the woman had just landed outside of São Paulo, he smiled to himself. Now, they need only wait for her to arrive.

An hour later, a black town car pulled up to the high rise as Reddington's team waited patiently. Their target emerged from the vehicle wearing a grey skirt, white silk blouse, and a sun hat. A pair of dark tortoise sunglasses covered her eyes as she nodded to the bellhop and headed inside. Once the lookouts in the lobby confirmed she was in the elevator, they made their way to the building.

Renata had just stepped off of the elevator when she ran into the bellhop who was bringing her bags. "You've been made." He whispered, pushing a bug-out bag into her hands. She sighed irritably and passed the young man a crisp $100 before heading for the emergency exit.

Renata had intended to stay in South America long enough to finish her dealings in Argentina, but it now seemed that this mystery player wasn't going to leave her be. This time, she would head to a blacksite where she could at least lay low for a few days. Bag hoisted on her back, she hurried down the stairs until she heard footsteps moving up several flights below.

Lips pursed, she opened the door to the nearest floor and headed for the service elevator. Slamming her finger on the button, she waited impatiently for the doors to open. With an out of tune ding the elevator arrived and Renata jumped in, repeatedly pressing the 'door close' and 'basement' buttons until she was safely on the move.

Not trusting the security of the basement entrances, Renata tucked herself into the corner next to the door so she would be out of site when it opened.

As the elevator settled on the bottom floor with another jarring ding, the door opened to a deafening silence. Renata waited patiently. She could see the faintest shadow being cast on the back wall of the elevator. A moment later a very large man with a dark beard and ponytail walked cautiously into the space, pointing his firearm ahead of him. Renata swung her leg and kicked the man's outstretched arm with all her might, sending the gun flying. Grabbing his belt and shoving him head first into the corner of the elevator, Renata then slammed all of the buttons on the top of the control panel.

Giving the man a sardonic little wave, she took off through the basement garage to the tune of the elevator dinging several floors above.

Bursting out of the exit, Renata sprinted through the back alley. Her strappy sandals weren't ideal running shoes, but they would have to do for now. Before she could go any further, however, a black sedan whipped into the mouth of the alley.

Renata turned to cut through the neighboring building, but was intercepted. A tall, young black man appeared, blocking her path.

Turning to try another route, Renata saw the woman she had left at the airport in Argentina, and in the distance, the man she had kicked earlier.

All of the exits were blocked. She jumped slightly as she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She looked up into the solemn face of the younger man as he spoke in a deep, West African accent.

"Hello Ms. Alder, Raymond Reddington sends his regards."


	4. The Concierge of Crime

_August, 1998_

Weighing her admittedly few options, Renata contemplated throwing a punch at the man squeezing her shoulder. He was bald, a few years younger than her, but he was very muscular and Renata doubted she would be able to fight him off, especially when he had backup waiting.

Realizing she had no other choice, Renata relented and went quietly with the man toward the sedan. He guided her gently but deliberately into the backseat before sliding in next to her. The woman from Argentina sat in the front seat while the ponytail joined them in the back, effectively sandwiching Renata between the two huge men. The interior of the vehicle was plush and luxurious, the soft leather of the seats harmonizing well with the warm wood accents. Whomever had captured her obviously had excellent taste. The dark haired woman nodded to the driver who immediately started the car and took a short turn around the block. Renata looked confusedly toward her condo building as they exited the vehicle. However, instead of going into the high rise, the associates led her into the equally lavish hotel across the street.

After a quick elevator ride up to the penthouse, Renata found herself handcuffed to an armchair in the lounge. The room was beautifully furnished with rich mahogany furniture and plush oriental carpets. If the man was going to kill her, Renata supposed it wasn't a terrible place to die. It was certainly better than the alley she had been chased into. Yet Renata had the distinct feeling that if this mystery player had wanted her dead, he would have one of his associates take care of it outside.

_'__Less messy_.' she thought.

Instead, there she sat, waiting for her captor to appear.

Upon hearing of his team's successful capture of Renata Alder, Reddington headed to the lounge where Dembe stood sentinel outside. "No problems, I trust?" he asked, looking his associate over for any sign of injury. Red still wasn't sure if he liked the idea of Dembe working for him. He had taken great lengths to secure an education and a life for Dembe, far from the horrors of the boy's past. However, the young man had insisted on coming to work with Raymond once he finished his schooling.

Dembe's eyes were the only thing that gave away his amusement. "This one is very clever. She came quietly once we cornered her, but I still recommend staying out of arm's reach."

Raymond chuckled to himself as he opened the doors and strode into the lounge.

When the young woman's head lifted at his entrance, Reddington understood why Scottie Hargrave would feel threatened by her. She was truthfully, very pretty. Her eyes were a deep turbulent grey with just a flicker of mischief behind them. Her characteristic blonde locks were tied back into a loose French braid and a few tendrils had fallen loose to gently frame her face. Her skin was sun-kissed from her time in South America, and a delightful little smattering of freckles showed on her face and chest.

"Ms. Alder! We haven't met yet, but you, my dear, have been quite a difficult catch. I'm Raymond Reddington."

If she was disconcerted about being handcuffed to an armchair, she didn't show it. In fact, she looked perfectly confident and comfortable, perched in the seat as though it were a throne.

Raymond liked her already.

"Well Mr. Reddington, I'd be of no use to anyone if I couldn't outrun another fugitive." Renata supplied with an air of innocence, eyeing him warily.

Reddington did not look like an average criminal. He wore an impeccable suit and occupied the space with an air of studied nonchalance that intrigued Renata. No tattoos marred the skin visible at the top of his shirt nor where his sleeves were rolled up. In reality, he was the type of criminal Renata would normally do business with. As she examined him, he simply peered at her with an expression of polite curiosity.

"I don't deny you're exceptional at your craft, Ms. Alder. You've evaded me for nearly a month without so much as stepping i_footi _off this continent." He added, "Had you left South America, I don't doubt you'd be more elusive than a spare bedroom at a house party."

Renata's mouth gave an almost imperceptible twitch. The man's undoubtable charm and brazen confidence amused her.

Reddington poured himself a drink from the bar cart and tilted his head expectantly, "Why did you run?"

Renata shifted her features into one of polite surprise, "An associate informed me that your fixer had been sent after me… I've been a criminal long enough to know that sending one's cleaner ahead to a destination tends to be the proverbial shot over the bow before a nasty altercation."

The man shook his head and laughed, "Well, I can't say that you are wrong there." He smirked as he took the armchair across from her. "I'm terribly sorry, this has been a rather magnificent misunderstanding. I have no intentions of killing you my dear; I'm here to do business."

Renata's head tilted in ill-disguised incredulity, "Then why am I cuffed to a chair?"

"You have a propensity for bolting." Reddington quipped, staring her down.

"_You_ have a propensity for sending the wrong message." she countered with a soft smile.

Reddington looked bemusedly at the woman. She wasn't what he had expected. To have outrun some of his best associates for nearly a month took a certain level of cut-throat intellect. Yet the woman occupying the chair had a distinct warmth and gentility to her that he had not expected.

Making his decision, he called to the outside guard, Dembe.

Renata recognized the young black man who had cornered her in the alley minutes earlier. He reached forward and began removing the handcuffs securing her to the armchair. She looked ruefully at the red marks on her wrists, rubbing them gently to ease the ache. Reddington felt suddenly abashed for imprisoning her in a chair. Normally he tried to be more of a gentleman where women were concerned.

Red utilized the distraction to change the subject, "I love an alias with a good backstory." He nodded to her, "'Renata' for example, meaning _reborn_, and 'Alder' is considered _the goddess tree_ in Celtic traditions. I'm curious, why did you choose the name?"

The woman became suspicious at this request. "I took the name when I first became a criminal."

Reddington shook his head slyly, "No, you didn't. You took a different name when you set up a trust for your ailing mother and laundered the rest of your family's fortune through a sea of fake non-profits. Renata Alder only became active last year, and she has _only ever_ been seen in South America. Rosalie Øllegaard, however, has been a little globe-trotting real estate mogul these past three years."

The careful gentility of Renata Alder was quickly drained from the woman's countenance, and the cool, calculating persona of Rosalie Øllegaard appeared to take the reins. Someone had betrayed her name to this man, and she was going to damn well find out who that was.

Reddington, on the other hand, was enthralled with the change in the woman's demeanor. _Now_ he could see a hint of the personality underneath. _This_ was the woman they had chased for weeks.

As Dembe stepped back and headed toward the door, Rosalie slipped a switchblade from the sleeve of her blouse. Quick as a flash, she was perched on Reddington's knee. The tip of the blade pointed deftly against his throat.

He chuckled darkly as he met her eyes. Finally, he spotted the spark of the criminal in their depths. "_There you are_." he purred.

Rosalie smiled benignly at him, "Uh-uh-uh," she tutted at Dembe, who had made a move towards them. "Your boss and I have a little business to discuss first."

Reddington's voice was impossibly low as he turned carefully toward his associate. "It's alright, Dembe. Ms. Øllegaard is just establishing our ground rules." Reddington's hand waved carelessly, "I handcuffed her to a chair, it's only fair that she takes a moment to threaten my well-being and various body parts should I do it again, which I won't." He turned pleasantly back to her, "…Unless she asks nicely."

Dembe reluctantly stepped back to stand by the door, watching the woman carefully as she turned imperious eyebrows back to her now-hostage.

Reddington continued in a purr, "You know, I don't think I've _ever_ been threatened by a woman as she sat in my lap. It's quite intoxicating. Were I a lesser man, you'd have me stammering like a hormonal teenager asking someone to prom."

"And just think, if you had chosen the sofa I'd be straddling you right now." she teased.

Reddington sighed and looked at the piece of furniture with mock disappointment. "Well, it's still early. If negotiations go sour, we may have to kiss and make up on the sofa." He flirted, waggling his eyebrows and placing his large hand on her knee.

Rosalie swatted the hand playfully with the flat side of her blade, but the man responded by nabbing it from her and tossing it to the floor. He turned triumphantly only to see her wielding yet another one.

Reddington shook his head and took a sip of his scotch, "I'm curious how many weapons my men failed to confiscate from you." He groused, throwing a sidelong glance at his bodyguard, who looked sheepish.

"Too many." Rosalie said, her tone chiding, "I could have been an assassin, you know."

He scolded her right back, "Instead, you're a very ill-behaved inn keeper."

"Says the kidnapper who…" she faltered, "Honestly, I don't even know who you are."

"I'm not as unknown as you might think." He intimated, an eyebrow flitting towards his hairline.

Rosalie carefully avoided rolling her eyes at this display of the male ego.

A pristine straw fedora caught her eye from its place on the nearby writing desk, making her eyes narrow at the man whose lap she was in. "In Paraguay I heard a rumor…" her eyes scanned his carefully, "they spoke of the man in the hat."

Reddington's eyes followed hers to the fedora in question. "See? Not as unknown as you thought."

The vibrant blonde in his lap suddenly burst into peals of laughter. "_You're_ the one Robbie Vesco left penniless in a whore house?"

Reddington's mouth gaped with open incredulity, '_Robbie' Vesco my ass, _he thought. That swindling jackass.i He was not yet over this particular transgression.

Rosalie's eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth, "Oh, don't look so sullen." She smirked, "The man's a terrible cheat. Besides, I see you've recovered just fine." Her switchblade left his pulse point long enough to gesture pointedly at the beautiful room they were in.

The man's wounded vanity was partially soothed, and he opted to change the subject rather than open hostilities over his former mentor. Raymond leaned to place his glass on a nearby side table, invading the chortling woman's space enough to derail her amusement. He cocked his head, allowing his eyes to bore into hers.

"Like any good criminal, my empire is highly diversified to suit my skill set and financial needs," he drawled, "and as you so amusedly surmised, to insulate me from 'terrible cheats' like Robert."

Rosalie schooled her expression into something more amenable, "You're a criminal jack of all trades."

Reddington's head lilted back and forth, "I deal in the commodities of information, misinformation, people, and identities. The success of my business depends on my ability to manipulate those commodities to the benefit of myself and my clientele. I'm a merchant of both people and contraband, a broker, a contract killer. However, the lifeblood of my business is as a concierge of sorts. I provide a very specific service for criminals who have either gotten in too deep and need a way out, or are struggling to move freely throughout the world."

The woman nodded in understanding, "You provide the necessary documentation to meet their needs."

"As well as transport, introductions, the occasional facial reconstruction. I provide a variety of accoutrements."

"I see, and what business would you be expecting from me, Mr. Reddington?" Rosalie asked pointedly.

"An acquaintance of mine has been partaking of your safe house network. I would like to utilize it for my day to day business, and, if you are willing, I would also like to forward my clientele to you. Most of them need safe harbor while I complete the necessary documentation for their new lives."

Rosalie examined him for a moment before reaching up to close the switch blade and toss it onto the coffee table. Reddington watched avidly as she crossed one beautifully toned leg over the other, giving him a tantalizing peek at her upper thigh.

"Mr. Reddington, I've built a life and an empire that demands a certain level of craft and cleverness. I will not permit myself or my operation to be abused. If you want access to my network, there is a set of guidelines you must follow, understood?"

Reddington smiled genially, "I take it the foreplay is over? That's a shame, I was looking forward to getting you hot and bothered. Please, dear, call me Raymond."

"First things first, _Raymond_," she purred, "I have a variety of associates that are vital to the continuity of my business: maids, bell hops, room service, property managers… These people are not to be harmed or harassed in any way. They are employed for your comfort as well as your security. Your people saw evidence of their usefulness when they came to kidnap me." Her thoughts flitted briefly back to the young bell hop.

Reddington nodded without argument.

"Secondly, I need at least 4 hours' notice on your intended whereabouts so I can have a location ready. I will also require a list of the countries and cities you most often do business in, so that I can confirm I'm able to accommodate you."

"What happens when I need lodgings in a location you don't have access to?"

"At that point I will either purchase a property, or if there isn't enough time, I will place my people at your disposal in a hotel penthouse." Rosalie answered confidently.

Reddington nodded his approval and waved her on.

"Thirdly, I am not responsible for your safety and well being should you act impulsively. My network, when utilized appropriately, is impregnable. However, if you don't take the necessary precautions when accessing my network, i.e. – making sure you haven't been followed, that is your problem, not mine."

Rosalie sighed irritably, "Lastly, no prostitutes in my homes. I'm in the business of safe houses, not brothels."

This earned a throaty chuckle from Raymond.

"Well," he said, his voice rumbling pleasantly against Rosalie's skin. "I find your terms to be agreeable. I would like to sample the merchandise, however, before committing my entire operation to your network."

An ambitious smile curled at the woman's mouth, "Certainly, Raymond. What is your next destination?"

"Bulgaria."

"Varna?" she asked, her smile widening.

Reddington found himself smirking back at her, "I take it you aren't opposed?"

The young woman was positively brimming with confidence, "I have a lovely boutique property in Euxinograd that you will positively adore."

Somewhat reluctantly, Reddington placed a hand on the small of the woman's back and guided her up out of his lap. He pulled his firearm from the holster on the small of his back, snatching the abandoned switch blade from the coffee table.

The young woman held her hand out expectantly.

Reddington shook his head, firearm aimed at the ceiling. "That'll teach you to bring a knife to a gun fight." he teased, still holding the blade close to his chest.

Rosalie leaned into his ear, "_Who said I don't have a gun?_" she purred, snatching the switch blade out of his grip.

Her burning eyes convinced him that, yes, there was a firearm hidden somewhere in that damnable skirt.

She twirled the blade between her fingers as she swaggered from the room.

"I'll see you in Bulgaria, Mr. Reddington."

Dembe led the woman from the lounge to the exit, providing her with the necessary contact information before escorting her outside.

Back in the lounge, Red leaned back against the door taking deep, steadying breaths.

_Eightyears_ in Raymond Reddington's skin and he had never had such an encounter with another criminal. The woman's tactics had been terrifying and yet incredibly arousing. He could still feel her tight little figure perched in his lap as she crossed her gorgeous legs.

Red shook his head and cleared his throat. He would have to talk with Dembe and Baz about checking every nook and cranny for switchblades…


	5. Dirty Rotten Plane Thief

August, 1998 - São Paulo

Rosalie didn't breathe easily until she was safely in the confines of the condo.

Kicking off her sandals, she scurried to the bar and poured herself a few fingers of her favoured gin. As the liquid passed her lips, Rosalie allowed the slow burn to calm her nerves. She looked back on her activities in the penthouse across the street with a measure of fear and obstinate pride.

She had stood toe to toe with a major player in the criminal underworld and lived to tell the tale. The Man in the Hat, this Concierge of Crime, presented an unprecedented danger. He didn't take pause or flinch in the slightest when she invaded his personal space and threatened his life. The only thing that seemed to put him on his heels was her telling him she was armed, and Rosalie had the distinct feeling he wasn't concerned about her having the weapon so much as where she could have possibly hidden it.

' Speaking of which… '

The woman reached between her legs and pulled the tab attached to her thigh. A black garter-style holster cascaded toward the ground with the small handgun in tow. Rosalie sighed her relief as she was freed from the straps around her leg. Placing the weapon on the coffee table, she turned to pour herself another drink, her mind still sprinting through the day's events.

' How the hell did he know my name? '

The thought was unnerving. If he knew her name, who's to say dozens of other criminals wouldn't make the same connection?

Curling up in one of the club chairs, she attempted to quiet her unease and mentally organize. The 24-hour gap between now and Reddington's intended arrival left her with two options. Rosalie could follow through with their deal, or she could fly out on the premise of getting the safe house prepared…then drop off the grid. She nixed that last thought almost immediately. Rosalie refused to go back on a business deal, it was a rude thing to do and would tarnish her reputation.

If the man was half as prominent as he indicated, working with him would provide Rosalie with the capital she needed to diversify. Unlike Reddington, the vast majority of Rosalie's business was in her safe house network. If anything went wrong in that area, her empire could be damaged beyond repair. She had been hoping to carve out a greater avenue in the safe passage and bug-out markets. These would create enough diversity in her portfolio to weather the occasional storm while still remaining comfortably in her bailiwick.

A coded knock on the condo's door drew her from her scheming. Rosalie's shoulders tensed as she pulled her firearm from its neglected holster and tip-toed to the door.

Peeking through the peep-hole, she saw a familiar man with short dark hair and green eyes. Rosalie opened the door slowly, giving the young man's bulky frame a quick once-over before letting him in.

His thin mouth twitched in silent indignation, as if to say, "… Really ?" before nudging his way through the door. The newcomer took in his surroundings before turning back to Rosalie, speaking in a lilting French accent.

"The plane is ready for your departure, I am to stay with you until you board."

The woman's brow furrowed, "Now, how on earth did he find me?"

"Brazil is the only country you have not been to in the last three weeks," the man said idly, "it was very easy to see where you were headed."

' Damn .' Rosalie cursed her need to stay in South America long enough to finish her business dealings. She had inadvertently broadcast her intended location by not back-tracking.

"The plane, Mademoiselle," he reminded her, "We must be going."

"Cedric, how many times must I tell you to call me by my name?"

The young man simply lifted his eyebrows imperiously. Rosalie had the distinct feeling he had been sent solely to annoy her. The woman huffed before moving about the condo, packing the few things she had removed from her luggage. "Is he on the plane?" she asked, bringing her bags back to the door.

" Non ," replied Cedric, taking her suitcase in hand, "He will call once you are airborne."

The woman strode quickly back into the condo's office and pulled a key from the door frame. Popping the key into a hidden lock on the bookshelves, she pushed and twisted. The shelf opened on a hinge, allowing her to reach into the compartment to grab a leather folio and another bug-out bag. After the afternoon's events, the condo was no longer a viable safe house. She would need to sell the place and acquire a new location in São Paulo. Rosalie stopped to dismantle one of the hallway vents, packing the last remnants of her hidden contraband in the bag.

Cedric had taken her suitcase down to the car, the coded knock signalling his return. He picked up the bug-out bag, slinging it over his shoulder before reaching for the leather folio.

Rosalie snatched it from his grasp and pulled it close to her chest, eyes narrowed peevishly. The folio contained the information pertaining to each of her safe houses, and she guarded the item quite viciously.

Cedric held up a placating hand, taking a step away from her. His tell-tale smirk belying his amusement at the exchange. He loved getting Rosalie's hackles raised. " Chat de 'la réve ." He teased, reaching out to rumple her hair.

Rosalie grimaced, swatting his hand away. "You're a pest" she grumbled, heading for the door.

Cedric couldn't contain his laughter as he followed her to the elevator. This was the summation of his and Rosalie's relationship. Hurling insults and occasionally shoving each other, which Rosalie was all too happy to do when they reached the lobby. Still grumbling, she nudged the large man who moved almost imperceptibly, still chuckling at her antics.

They bickered good-naturedly until they reached the front door, where they quickly and silently headed for Cedric's vehicle.

Across the street in the penthouse, Reddington's team was keeping a close eye on the young innkeeper. Dembe took the first watch, keeping close tabs on her as she moved around the condo. When the woman left her location with an unknown man in tow, Dembe quietly followed in Reddington's town car.

The pair made their way to a private airstrip outside of the city, where they hurriedly boarded a Gulfstream jet. The blue and white bird turned quickly on the tarmac before hurtling up into the afternoon sun, engines roaring.

Dembe grabbed the aircraft's tags, then stopped to bribe the destination and manifest off of air traffic control before returning to São Paulo.

Upon entering the penthouse, he found Raymond waiting for him. "So, where is the little minx headed?"

The young man held out the papers containing the flight path, manifest, and the jet's tags. "I spoke to air traffic control. They confirmed she is en route to Bulgaria as we speak."

Reddington's head tilted in surprise upon seeing the tags listed for the jet. "You're certain this is the plane that she boarded?"

Dembe's replied in the affirmative, "I watched her board the plane myself."

"Interesting," Reddington scrutinized the documents carefully. "What would an innkeeper in South America have to do with a French mobster?"

"The jet, it is Florian's is it not?" Dembe asked, "He wasn't with her, nor was he on the manifest."

Florian Gaspard Armel, the owner of the jet, was an old Corsican mob boss whom Red had done business with in the past. To Red's knowledge, Florian had never done business in South America. Why his jet would be there was a complete mystery.

In the spirit of transparency, and to somewhat assuage his own curiosity, Red decided to call him.

"Florian!" Red chimed jovially upon him picking up, "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time?"

The old mobster's booming voice came roaring through the connection. "Not at all my lad, not at all. To what do I owe this call?"

Reddington paced the lounge, hesitating, as he realized he was essentially ratting the young woman out. "...I'm dealing with an innkeeper that I picked up in South America. She seems to be flying to Bulgaria in your jet."

Florian chuckled, "I know nothing about that, Raymond. I have no use for an… Did you say South America?"

Reddington smirked, knowing full well the old buffer was lying through his teeth. "Yes, Florian. Brazil to be precise. I thought you might be concerned as to the whereabouts of your Gulfstream."

" Merde ." The older man groused, perfectly unconcerned. "It looks like I will be making a trip to Bulgaria then, does it not?"

"Dembe can provide you with the necessary information. We will meet you there." Raymond handed the phone to the younger man, indicating he was going to go pack.

Heading for the master bedroom, Red took the few things he had unpacked and placed them neatly back into his suitcase. He was glad to hear the young innkeeper was already getting started on their agreement. However, her connection with Florian made him suspicious. The man wasn't the unsavoury type. Like Red, he had a deep-seated code of ethics when it came to being a criminal. There were certain lines Florian did not cross, and criminals who did cross those lines were never permitted to work with his people. Red could respect a man like that, perhaps that was why they continued doing business. And yet Red knew the man was lying when he asked about the woman on his plane.

If she had just purchased a ride on the jet, Florian would have said so outright.

If the pilot was shuttling passengers in the jet on the sly, Florian would have been absolutely furious.

The old mobster knew this woman, Red just didn't know how he knew her. Not yet, anyway. He assuaged his curiosity with the knowledge that the next day would provide the answers he sought.

A gentle knock sounded on the bedroom door. Dembe strode quietly into the room, returning the phone to his employer. "How long before we leave?" he asked tiredly.

Reddington gave him an understanding smile. "We could all use a little rest, we'll leave in the morning."

Aboard the Gulfstream, Rosalie sat curled up in her usual chair. Her small hand was wrapped around the satellite phone as she dialled the familiar number. She waited patiently while the phone rang on the other end, she had just pulled a crude face at Cedric when a deep, surly voice hit her ear.

"Ma fille!"

Rosalie grinned, hearing the smile in the man's voice. "Bon soir, mon pére."

Florian roared into the phone, "What is going on? I have not heard from you in weeks!"

Rosalie pulled the device from her ear ruefully while Cedric laughed at her. Florian was obviously upset with her for being off the grid for such an extended period. "Now, now, vu gros ours . It does no good to get your blood pressure up."

The man scoffed at her teasing tone.

"Don't say that, Marietta will hear you!" he hissed, "My daughter has been running all over the South American continent. It has been giving me a cornea."

"Coronary " she corrected. Rosalie could practically see Florian, in all of his criminal bravado, looking nervously around for his formidable wife. She couldn't keep a small giggle from escaping at the thought.

"Oh, laugh all you want, mon petit chat de 'la réve . Marietta is on the warpath and you have made the top of her list."

His attempt at a chastising tone only made her laugh more. The sound of Marietta's voice calling in rapid French however, silenced that laughter at once.

Florian picked up on her faltering humour, "Ha! Not so blasé now are we?"

In the same breath, Rosalie heard him whisper "Merde!" followed by the closing and locking of a heavy door. She knew from the sound, the man had taken refuge in his office.

Rosalie heaved a sigh, "Pére , everything is fine, just a minor mix-up." Her tone was placating, but he didn't buy it.

"Cedric said you left the condo this afternoon in a rush. What happened?"

Rosalie's eyes narrowed at the perpetrator across from her. "You're having me followed?"

Florian's tone was completely unapologetic. "Non , I am in contact with your associates. You won't let me give you a security detail. Therefore, I have to employ other ways of keeping you safe."

The woman took note of the frustrated tone in his voice. In reality, Florian was right, she should have a security detail. At this point in her career, Rosalie had already been in a fist fight, shot at multiple times, and now she could add being abducted to the list.

The Frenchman found her silence quite telling, his tone softening when he next spoke.

"I can have a team ready in moments, Rosalie."

She hesitated, "Pére, I hate to ask it of you…" Rosalie always disliked asking the man for anything. He had already done so much for her.

Selecting a security detail was like picking family members. They would be with her night and day, protect her, keep her secrets, and lay down their lives if necessary. In the same vein, she would be responsible for their well-being, their livelihoods, and their families, should the worst come to pass. Her empire could float the cost, but it was the responsibility for those men that made Rosalie take pause. "I have no experience in selecting a detail… Could I ask your guidance?"

Florian breathed a heavy sigh of relief, "It is no trouble, I will send a folio of acceptable candidates to your location in the morning. Until then, keep Cedric with you. What country will you be in?"

Rosalie tittered, as if he didn't already know.

However, the question brought the young woman back to the task at hand. "There is a business opportunity that is taking me to Bulgaria."

"Non ? What is this opportunity? Is that why you were spyhopping all over South America?" The man's teasing tone released the tension the woman had been holding onto.

She leisurely went through the events of the past three weeks and her fateful meeting with the man in the hat, leaving ample space for Florian to ask questions and roar with laughter at her antics.

The man's laughter quieted as she relayed the details of her capture. His tone was gentle, flickering with both pride and concern. "Your network is working beautifully mon trésor , but you need to find out how that man managed to know your location before you were there. That condo is burnt, you would do well to be rid of it and purchase another location in São Paulo."

Rosalie's head nodded in agreement. She knew after being unceremoniously taken from the location herself, she couldn't have her clientele using it in good conscience. As for Reddington's knowledge of her whereabouts, Rosalie was loathe to admit that was her own fault. She told Florian as much, that she had been unwilling to leave the continent due to a deal in play. After running throughout the continent, the only logical move she had left was to fly to São Paulo.

Florian's deep chuckle resonated through the connection, "Ah, you are truly ma fille . I despise being interrupted mid-acquisition." There was a beat of silence before he whispered conspiratorially, "How is the property in Patagonia?"

It was Rosalie's turn to laugh merrily. She could just see Florian's features turning to boyish delight as she relayed the specifics of her newest location. "It is magnificent."

"I am sure it will be a splendid addition, the location is sublime. Now… what shall we do about this Concierge fellow, what is his name?"

"Raymond Reddington" she sighed, "I've been out of the social scene too long. I have no idea who he is."

"Hmmm… that is alright, I know of him. We have done business with him on the shipping routes out of Corsica. Other than kidnapping you, I have not heard of any exploits outside of the usual racketeering, murder, etcetera. If Reddington was up to something more heinous than that, I would know." Florian decided not to tell her the man had basically tattled on her. He was surprised and pleased at the loyalty Reddington had showed.

Any apprehension regarding the deal disappated almost instantly. She trusted the blustering Frenchman beyond all others. He would know if there was something unsavoury about the man, and she trusted him to always tell her what she needed to know. With her conscience settled, Rosalie proceeded to flip through the folio containing her properties.

"You know I would never let anything happen to you mon trésor. " The man soothed through the connection.

Rosalie paused for a beat. "You'll save me from Marietta, then?" she sniggered, knowing full well the fiery little Parisian owned Florian body and soul.

"I could deny her nothing, even if it means letting her tan your hide for not calling more often."

The young woman snorted indelicately. "Yes, well, she will have to catch me first."

"Do not underestimate her, Rosalie...I think my own men would turn on me with a snap of her fingers."

The pair laughed heartily at the idea of wispy little Marietta absconding with Florian's entire security detail on a whim.

In the silence that followed, Rosalie pieced together the issue that had been bothering her most. " Pére , he knew who I was. He knew my name was Rosalie, he knew about my mother…How did he find out about her?"

Florian didn't sound overtly concerned. "He is a concierge, it is their job to know things. Did he threaten her?"

"No, but…" Rosalie sighed, "I can't risk my mother finding out what I've become, Florian. It would hurt her. She wouldn't understand. She doesn't know what I've been doing all this time."

The old mobster nodded thoughtfully, the girl's true concerns finally coming to light. Rosalie's capture concerned her significantly less than the idea of what could happen to her mother should she be discovered. The girl's purpose as a criminal was built upon caring for the woman and ensuring Rosalie the freedom to pursue the life she was meant to have.

The young spitfire had come to Florian under the most beguiling circumstances, and he had warmed to the little darling immediately. Rosalie was and would always be, a criminal by nature. Blessed with a keen intellect and a moral compass that points to her true north as opposed to that of the law, this life was a natural progression for her. She belonged in Florian's world, the edges of right and wrong, that is where she truly shone. The man understood her need to protect her mother. In truth, she and the woman were very close. Rosalie maintained the ruse of traveling for work, her mother believing that her daughter was an international real estate agent. In reality, the young woman had been learning how to be a criminal from Florian.

Now, three years later, Rosalie was poised to become an institution in the dark corners of their world. Her safe house network was growing steadily, and her abilities were garnering her a loyal and high-profile clientele. All without any input from Florian or his fellow Corsicans. The woman was building an empire in her own right.

If this Reddington knew of her last remaining family member, someone else could as well. The security around her mother would need to be increased, Florian decided. He would see to it personally, placing some of his own people in the retirement community in which she lived. It would do no good for Rosalie to be fretting about her mother's security when she is dealing in high-stakes negotiations.

"You need to focus on your new client. I will take care of your mother, ma fille. I'll see to her security, and make sure that any ties to you are buried so deep, even Reddington won't find them."

A feeling of relief wrapped itself around Rosalie, knowing Florian would keep his word. He always did.

"And Cedric?" she asked dryly, trying to lighten the mood.

"What about Cedric?" Florian chuckled, his expression bemused.

"Where can I drop him off, I can't stand looking at his face anymore." She stuck her tongue out at the offending party, who had been casually flipping her the bird.

She could feel Florian's exasperation through the phone as he sighed. "The two of you are going to be the death of me." He grumbled, "You are to keep Cedric with you until I say otherwise."

Rosalie's giggling filtered through the phone, making the older man smile warmly.

The woman sighed happily, "Well, Pére , I will have to get busy if I'm going to have the Bulgarian property ready for occupation in 12 hours."

"Bon chance, ma fille."

Rosalie ended the call and went to pour herself a drink. It was going to be a tense couple of hours before she would be able to sleep.

In order to have the Varna property prepared, Rosalie would need her associates to begin working without her. Whipping through the folio she had been looking at, she began to dial her contacts for Bulgaria. Conversing in stilted Bulgarian she laid out the plans for her newest client.

The young woman had racked her brain for things she noticed during her brief captivity in Redington's penthouse. The colour of the drapes, the decorations, the bottle of scotch that was on the bar cart, she slowly filtered through it all. Contacting her property manager she delegated the appropriate linens, foods, and various other accoutrements that she felt would suit her client's taste and expectations.

Two hours later, Rosalie had contacted her property manager, landscaper, maids, and a personal shopper. Over the next twelve hours they would be cleaning, sprucing, and readying the house. Florian even provided a few of his security to check the property for any vulnerabilities, bugs, or other problems. Feeling that the major aspects of the property were underway, Rosalie stood and stretched languidly. She smirked at Cedric, his large body lying prone on the sofa. She draped one of the soft blankets over him and kissed the top of his head. Even in his sleep he swatted grumpily at her. Rosalie tittered as she headed to the lavatory, hoping to freshen up before getting some much-needed sleep.

12 hours later - Varna, Bulgaria

Rosalie stepped off the plane feeling refreshed and ready to ackle the situation at hand. A dark SUV waited for them on their arrival. Rosalie hopped into the driver's seat, ignoring Cedric's mildly put-upon look as she took off towards the safe house.

"So," he said, breaking the silence, "What is the story with this new client of yours?"

Rosalie's lips pursed, "He's a big client, willing to bring lots of little clients with him, moves every two days..."

Cedric's Parisian drawl hitched slightly, " Every two days? "

Rosalie nodded thoughtfully, "182 safe houses per year, if he doesn't stay in the same place twice. I have my work cut out for me."

"Can your network even support that?" The man brought up a valid question.

"It will, once I've finished. I'll need to hire more property managers, but it's feasible."

Cedric shook his head, "Imagine if one gets the flu...What a nightmare."

Rosalie gawped at him, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline. "Thanks for that!"

"...What?"

"You know what! Killjoy." she laughed, throwing the map at him.

Cedric smirked as he caught the projectile, proceeding to toss it in the back seat.

"Prat." She teased.

"Brat." He countered.

Rosalie nibbled her bottom lip as they continued down the road.

"You don't know where you're going without the map... Do you, Rosalie?" Cedric's face held a sly grin as he watched her attempt to locate the next turn.

She groaned, passing street after street with no knowledge of where she needed to go. "I told Pére you were a nuisance."

The man snorted, retrieving the map from the rear seat. "Oh please, Florian knows you just like to complain."

"You're fired." She groused, snatching the map from his grasp.

Finally pulling into the gravel drive, Rosalie smiled softly up at the two-story home built into the hillside. The place was a fortress in its own right, as its illustrious history had shown. The house had been utilized as a halfway point for Russian operatives moving between the Motherland and Italy during World War II. The large pale rocks that made up the facade were completely bulletproof, but showed scuffs here and there from its previous occupation. The patio off of the second floor master overlooked the garden with its shimmering pool, the Black Sea winking off in the distance.

Rosalie found herself hoping the location would be to Reddington's liking.

Their arrival at the home initiated a flurry of activity. Cedric moved the woman's luggage into the guest house on the other side of the property while his charge busied herself with her associates. The maids came scurrying up to hug the young woman, patting her cheeks affectionately and chattering in Bulgarian. Rosalie beamed at the pair, enquiring about their health and their respective families as they lead her into the house.

The heavy oak floors positively gleamed in the morning light. Rosalie took a quick turn about the living room sighing her approval, "My dear friends, the place looks magnificent."

The women smiled proudly and continued escorting their employer around the house. As each room opened to her, Rosalie remembered why she had chosen this home for her Bulgarian operations. The strong wooden beams, walls of solid stone, they gave an earthy, natural quality to the space that made her feel stable and grounded. The young woman's nerves melted slowly as each space revealed itself.

Having found the property and grounds to her standards, Rosalie delegated a few last-minute tasks to the property manager before ushering her associates from the home amid promises of dinner and drinks later. They would be staying in the guest house as well, giving Rosalie ample opportunity to properly thank them for readying the space in her absence.

Striding quietly out onto the veranda, the woman peered at her watch. Her client would be arriving soon...

Reddington's jet landed late that afternoon, taxying to park alongside Florian's Gulfstream.

They had made a minor detour to pickup a blustering Howard Hargrave, who would be acting as broker for the deal Reddington was hoping to make. The man was not yet aware that Raymond had located the innkeeper he had mentioned a few weeks ago. Nor did he know their base of operations for the next few days would be one of hers.

Howard halted for a moment outside the door, recognizing the jet beside them. "I'll be damned if that's not Florian's jet." he commented, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun and gazing at the bird.

"Ah, so it is!" called a booming voice. The imposing figure of Florian Armel appeared at the bottom of the staircase, peering up at Raymond and his entourage. Descending from the jet, the group found two black sedans waiting for them. The bosses engaged in perfunctory handshakes while their respective security simply nodded stoically at one another.

"Florian, I'm sure you remember Howard, he's brokering a sale for me while I am in Bulgaria."

The two men nodded and shook hands once more.

Howard winced apologetically, "On that note, I really should head down to the marina, Raymond. I will need to get my assessment started if you want to complete the deal in the next 48 hours."

Red smiled knowingly, "Certainly, the car is at your disposal. I should be there in a few hours."

Howard took his leave, making a beeline for the first sedan, his bodyguards following him.

Florian genially watched the man leave. "Well," he said, patting Reddington on the back, "It seems there is no time like the present. Let's go see this plane thief!" The old mobster chuckled knowingly and headed for the second vehicle.

Dembe exchanged an amused glance with Raymond before taking one of the front seats.

The comfortable sedan clipped along the highway as Red and Florian sat in companionable silence. Neither one wanted to broach the subject of Rosalie. Their stalemate did not last long though, as they arrived moment later at a magnificent stone property settled into the hillside. The blonde in question was stood on the front steps of the home, waiting to welcome her new client.

As the men exited the confines of the vehicle, Reddington heard the woman gasp in surprise.

He turned in time to see Rosalie Ølegaard throw herself into Florian's arms, kissing his cheeks and practically squealing, "Mon Pére!"


	6. The Mobster's Daughter

_August, 1998 - Varna, Bulgaria - Hillside Safe House_

Reddington gaped slightly at the pair. He was practically fluent in French, and the term of endearment that passed the young woman's lips did not escape him. She had called Florian 'Dad', yet Reddington was quite certain the man did not have a daughter.

The old French mobster, with his rippling grey hair and towering build quite often terrorized average citizens and criminals alike. With Rosalie, however, he took on a persona more akin to a teddy bear. The little sprite of an innkeeper seemed to own him body and soul, even as he enveloped her in a massive hug that lifted her off her feet.

When she reached the ground again she looked sheepishly up at Red. "I'm terribly sorry, Raymond, where are my manners?" She reached forward, shaking his hand and brushing her cheek with his. "Welcome to Varna."

Reddington's bemused amusement was held in check as he looked meaningfully between the young woman and Florian.

"Rosalie was at one time my charge." Florian explained, "Now, she is family. I hope you do not mind my slight subterfuge in obtaining her location. As I'm sure you've found out, she's terribly elusive."

Red watched as Rosalie beamed cheekily up at the man, completely unphased by his declaration.

The young woman looked to the safe house, calling the property manager to request their guests' bags be taken inside. She turned back to Reddington, "Why don't I give you a quick tour?"

As their luggage was brought in, Rosalie lead Red and Dembe on a tour of the home and property grounds. Red was rather impressed, truth told. The house was a pleasant mixture of classic and rustic design, the natural materials giving the place a soothing, earthy feel. The plush seating and perfectly poised record player inside the lounge was beckoning to Red, while Dembe had eyes only for the lap pool glistening in the garden.

Rosalie smiled softly at Reddington as she opened the heavy wooden doors to the master suite.

Red found himself unconsciously mirroring that smile. The woman was in her element, vibrant and glowing as she guided him into the inviting space. The walls were the same pale stone as the rest of the house. The furniture was a rich mahogany that paired beautifully with the soft cream-colored linen. Reddington was surprised to see the bed was made with soft cotton blankets. The oxblood comforter was folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

Rosalie caught his puzzled look. "I'm sorry, I despise comforters. I tend to leave them off until I learn a guest's preferences. I can have it changed if you like?"

Red tilted his head curiously, "Not at all my dear, the bedding is perfectly fine."

The young woman nodded, turning to open the large french doors leading to the balcony. Her guest followed her onto the outdoor space, smiling pleasantly at the magnificent view.

He turned to look at the young innkeeper, his hazel eyes boring into hers. She was wearing a robin's egg blouse and a dark grey skirt that matched her eyes. The slate orbs held his gaze admirably.

"I unfortunately have business I need to attend to at the shipyard. The safe house is more than adequate, Rosalie. If you are amicable, I'd like you to begin planning for our next location."

The woman dimpled at him, obviously pleased that he wished to continue their arrangement. "Certainly, where are you off to next?"

"New York," he rumbled, placing his hands in his pockets. "I have an acquisition to secure from an art thief named 'Mugs' Kalinowski."

Rosalie tittered at the name. "Upper or Lower Manhattan?"

The man's head tilted back and forth, considering the option. "Lower. I prefer the wilds of SoHo and the Village over the fustian Upper West Side."

The woman's expression showed a flicker of surprise, but she nodded all the same. "The property will be ready in 24 hours."

Dembe walked silently into the suite, indicating it was time to meet their counterparts at the docks.

Rosalie considered this her cue to make her exit. She gave the brooding bodyguard a small smile as she left.

Raymond chuckled exasperatedly as Dembe's only response was to give the innkeeper a curt nod. Red donned his jacket and hat, then followed the young man out to the car.

"The safe house is a pleasant surprise," Dembe commented idly as they sped South toward the marina.

"It is…" Reddington agreed, "Any news on our little shadow?"

In order to test Rosalie's safe house network, Mr. Kaplan hired a notorious shutterbug aptly named _The Seeker_. The man's value was in his ability to find people that wish not to be found. Red had used him several times prior, and so had opted to leverage the man's considerable talents to verify Rosalie's network was, in fact, safe.

Raymond found Dembe's eyes crinkling in amusement in the rear-view mirror. "The tail knows you're near Varna, other than that, it has been a goose chase."

The pair chuckled at the thought as Dembe pulled the vehicle up to the shipyard. Howard and the seller's entourage waited patiently in the door of an abandoned warehouse, ready to do business.

Rosalie returned to the guest house, seeking out Florian.

She found the mobster happily exchanging stories with Cedric in the lounge, his voice ricocheting loudly off the stone walls. The man beamed at her when she entered.

The woman noted Cedric, exhausted, had propped his chin in his hand as he listened to the Frenchman bluster about a deal gone awry in Cairo. Taking pity on him, Rosalie patted his shoulder and suggested he get some rest before dinner.

Cedric eagerly took the opportunity to exit the conversation.

"And take a shower!" Rosalie called, feeling she needed to needle the young man once more.

Florian chuckled wryly at her suggestion, seeing a lone hand reaching back through the doorway with a crude gesture. She simply brushed off the retort and proceeded to make her and Florian a cup of tea.

"I didn't expect to see you today," she said honestly. Though she was always happy to see the man she considered a father, she needed to ensure he wouldn't be turning up at every new business dealing. It would undermine her status with her clients.

The mobster sensed her concerns regarding the unexpected appearance. "I needed to ensure you were alright, knowing your propensity for downplaying problems. I also needed to give you this." He pulled out a small black leather folio containing the candidates for her security detail.

Rosalie took the item gratefully, noting a few familiar faces as she flipped through its contents. Perhaps this wouldn't be as difficult as she thought.

"I took the liberty of choosing the head of your detail. I knew you wouldn't mind."

The woman's eyes snapped up to meet Florian's crystal blue orbs. Rosalie found that she did mind. She minded quite a lot, _actually_. Her head of security would end up being her right hand, her closest confidant. She couldn't believe Florian had just taken that decision from her.

Florian held up his hand, forcing the impending argument to die in the girl's throat. The hand then turned and beckoned to someone in the hall.

A tall, imposing figure with jet black hair and beetle-black eyes stepped into the room. His posture held a relaxed grace laced with an almost palpable aura of ferocity. A neatly trimmed black beard framed the clear olive skin of his face. The man's eyes crinkled in open amusement at his new charge.

The young woman's expression changed comically from blatant irritation to surprised recognition and finally, to unbridled delight.

"_Horace_" she breathed happily, leaping up and wrapping her arms around the massive man.

Florian chuckled at the pair, knowing he had chosen well. His Rosalie had become quite taken with Horace when she first entered Florian's world. The man had been her first guard, and the pair had quickly become close friends.

Horace was an exceptional bodyguard. He was cool, calculating, and absolutely lethal. As much as it pained Florian to part with him, he knew the man was ready to head his own team. Horace was well-educated, intuitive, and an excellent traveler. He would excel as Rosalie's right hand. The old mobster could sleep at night knowing the young man was looking out for his daughter. Especially now that she was in dealings with Reddington.

The woman in question was radiant as she scurried back to Florian. "_Merci, merci, merci, mon Pére_!" She sighed happily, hugging him and placing soft kisses to each of his cheeks. She understood it was no small inconvenience for the man to part with her new head of security. She appreciated the gesture immensely. As she looked back at her new counterpart, she knew no other man could have taken the position. It had always been meant for Horace.

Rosalie pulled up a seat for her friend and busied making him a cup of tea. She and Horace would have time to catch up and select the rest of her security detail later. Returning to the table, the woman sighed happily, "How was the flight?" she asked, her request directed at the younger man.

Horace smiled, responding in his smooth Egyptian accent, "It would have been better if _somebody_ hadn't absconded with the jet."

Rosalie caught him smiling into his teacup. "Oh yes. How ever did you survive in first class on a _pedestrian_ airline?" Her impish reply made the large man laugh merrily.

The woman looked to Florian again, getting straight to the point. "What is your opinion of Reddington?"

Florian's shoulders shrugged, "Être galant."

"You consider him a gentleman?" Rosalie asked, her eyebrows raised.

"As much as a criminal can be a gentleman, so he is. I have no objections to your working with the man."

Her eyes narrowed at his comment, "A criminal can be a gentleman, _Pére_. You're evidence of that." Horace silently nodded his agreement.

The old mobster chuckled and wrapped his arm affectionately around her slight frame. "Say that again, clearly into the microphone. I want to play it back to Marietta whenever she is livid."

Rosalie tittered at his joke, pinching his side playfully.

Her face turned serious once again. "If you agree that he is a good man, I must ask you to allow me to broker the deal with him as I see fit." The young woman knew Florian had been building up to the moment when he would ask her to allow him to broker the deal. She understood it was all in the name of her own protection. However, this would likely be the biggest deal of her career. She would not have anyone orchestrate it for her, even Florian.

Florian felt the weight of a heavy stone settle in his stomach. He looked at his young ward, _his fille_, the pride and joy he thought would never be his… He had known this day would come, when she would insist on fully and completely standing on her own. Florian just hadn't expected it so soon. His heart sagged with the empty-nest feeling only a parent could know, and yet, an even greater part of him burned with an agonizing pride. He had fought for her to have this future she so deeply desired. He had taught her everything he knew to ensure she would be safe and successful. This was her moment.

Florian's eyes shimmered with the unexpectedly powerful sense of fulfillment he felt as he sighed, "But of course, _mon fille_."

Reddington returned to the safe house a few hours later with Howard Hargrave safely in tow.

The two-story building tucked beautifully into the hillside was warm, luxurious, and perfectly unsuspecting. Raymond found himself thinking he could certainly get used to this.

It wasn't until dusk that they finally got another glimpse of the vivacious little inn keeper.

Upon entering the home's lavish lounge, Rosalie's eyes narrowed at Howard. "Aha!" she snapped, "So _you're_ the one who ratted me out."

Howard roared with laughter, waving a hand apologetically at Rosalie. Her chastising look didn't budge one iota, only serving to make him chuckle even more.

Florian Armel gestured Reddington toward the veranda as Rosalie was introducing her new bodyguard, Horace, to Dembe and Howard.

Red had expected this discussion to arise. Rosalie was relatively new to the criminal game, and her connection with Florian ensured that the man would end up being the broker for their deal. Pouring a scotch and lighting his cigar, Raymond settled in for a long negotiation.

Imagine his surprise when the mobster simply sat beside him, enjoying his cigar.

"We never had children, Marietta and I. We felt our lifestyle was too much to thrust upon a babe. I can't tell you how much I regretted that in later years."

Red nodded his head in silent agreement, he had seen this coming. Like a father cleaning his shotgun on prom night, Florian was going to ensure the younger man had only pure intentions where his "daughter" was concerned.

The older man smiled fondly at the sea in the distance. "Then, a young, country-less spitfire came to me. The little fiend had outbid me on a property in Marseille, swept it right out from under me. When I had my men bring her to me so that I could convince her to part with it…she told me no, in no uncertain terms. However, she did generously offer to rent me the property whenever I had need of it. She had a business plan, you see. A network of safe houses and hideouts that could protect "criminals" who were in fact necessary to the function of our society."

Raymond found himself smiling at the girl's gumption. It was a wonder she had survived this long, with that kind of cheek.

Florian chuckled deeply at the memory. "I was so taken aback by her, her spirit, her ferocity. That merciless intellect paired with feminine vivacity. It was like the daughter I'd always hoped for simply appeared on my doorstep."

The cigar smoke unfurled around them in rippling curls as they heard the woman in question laughing gaily in the lounge.

"I brought her into the fold. I taught her to be like me. _More_ than a criminal, an institution. We accepted her into our lives and she repaid Marietta and I with the love only a child could bring. I nicknamed her _petit chat de'la réve, 'little hellcat_' for her fiery temper. She calls me _gros ours, 'big bear_' for she would ride along with me when I had to terrorize a few people."

Reddington chuckled in spite of himself, halting when he turned to look at the man next to him.

Florian suddenly looked much older. His smile faltered minutely as he thought out his next statement.

"She has learned well, _mon fille_. So well, in fact, that I have reached the pinnacle of a parent's journey. Rosalie is at the threshold of her empire. She is ready to open the door to her future, away from my protection and guidance. It just so happens you and your organization are what lie behind that door."

Red was pleasantly surprised. This meant he and Rosalie would be finalizing the deal alone. It was uncommon for a newer player to broker their own deals. By removing the third party, Rosalie was indicating a certain level of trust in the transaction, and to a greater extent, Reddington himself.

The Frenchman heaved a great sigh as he finished his drink. "There are people with whom we build our empires. Those we love, those we esteem, and those we despise. I am leaving you with one of the people I love most in this world. I hope I do not live to regret it, Reddington."

The powerful old mobster stood, setting his glass back on the cart. His icy blue eyes seemed to bore holes into Raymond's soul as he held out a large hand.

The younger man took it, squeezing firmly and meeting the man's gaze. "I'll look out for her, Florian. I take care of my own."

A small smile flitted across Florian's face before he gave a curt nod and took his leave.


	7. Give and Take

_August 13, 1998 - Hillside Safehouse - Varna, Bulgaria_

Rosalie said her goodbyes to Florian in the morning amid promises to call and assurances that the man would give Marietta her love. He had kissed the girl goodbye and gave Horace a thump on the back before heading to the car with Cedric and his detail.

The young innkeeper's face held a bittersweet smile as she waved to Florian's receding sedan.

Horace reached an arm around her shoulders, giving the woman a gentle squeeze, his voice lilting gently as he spoke, "It's just you and I now, Boss."

Rosalie's nose wrinkled adorably at the term. Her new head of security had been working in a mob environment too long. Her slate eyes met his, "You will call me Rosalie, Horace. You are my right hand and my friend. I won't have you calling me 'Boss.'"

The Egyptian laughed heartily at her comment, putting his hands in his pockets and peering down at her. "As you wish...Captain."

The woman grinned impishly up at him and patted his cheek. "Brat. Now, let's get you fed and we can discuss our plans for New York." Her little hands shooed him back into the house as he let out a barking laugh.

Up at the safehouse, Raymond Reddington watched the exchange thoughtfully. It was good for the woman to have her own security. He would have insisted on it eventually, a criminal in her shoes presented too big a target. A laugh escaped his lips as he watched the woman bully her guard back into the house, following him only to reappear in the kitchen window.

She was a curious little thing. He could see her laying out enough food to feed an army while she chatted animatedly with Horace. As the man continued to watch, other people began trickling into the room. Two younger women and the man Red recognized as the property manager shuffled to the kitchen table, where Rosalie had placed half a dozen beverage carafes. The woman seemed to be taking orders for eggs and the like, fixing plates for each individual as they filled their glasses with their drink of choice.

Another smile twitched at Red's mouth as he watched Horace steal a piece of bacon only to have his hand gently swatted away. A plate filled with eggs, bacon, and potatoes was immediately offered as compensation; his young charge urged him toward the table with the rest. Reddington felt a twinge of affection for the woman as she brought in a large tray of pastries before finally fixing her own plate.

A soft knock echoed into the master suite, pulling Red's thoughts from the guest house and the innkeeper inside.

Dembe's head appeared in the doorway. "We are due at the docks shortly."

The older man nodded, plucking his hat and jacket from the table and following him out the door. Reddington felt a cool, calculating sense of purpose descend over him as they headed for the meeting. It was time to finalize his deal.

In the guest house, Rosalie nervously fiddled with her food.

Horace had caught her eyes flitting up to the safe house periodically throughout breakfast. Finally, the man set down his cutlery and peered curiously at her, his face asking the much-needed question.

Rosalie's eyes flickered guiltily to the safe house again. "Should we see if they wish to join us?" she asked, "Or is that too much, too soon? I don't want to overstep…" The young woman was babbling and she knew it.

"Dembe told me last night, there's a deal being finalized this morning. If they're still at the house, they will be leaving shortly for the marina." As if on cue, Horace looked up to see Dembe, Reddington, and Hargrave loading into their sedan. "See?" he gestured, returning to his eggs.

"Hmm…" Rosalie watched the men as well, slightly perturbed that she would not see Reddington before she headed for New York. "I'll bring some pastries up to the safe house before we leave."

She figured if they weren't hungry now, they may be later. Dembe at least was still a growing young man, after all. The thought made Rosalie giggle softly, realizing she sounded terribly like her mother.

When breakfast was cleared and the pair's bags packed, Rosalie headed up to the safe house with the maids. They placed a few carafes of juice, coffee, and tea in the kitchen while Rosalie arranged an assortment of pastries on a cake stand and covered the confections with a glass cloche. Pilfering a slip of paper from the lounge, she penned a quick note to Reddington before bidding farewell to her associates.

Horace pulled up in the dark suv, stepping out to open the rear passenger door. Rosalie raised her eyebrows at the backseat. She was used to driving, or at the very least being in the front seat. The woman turned to look at Horace, who waited, patient but unyielding. Finally, Rosalie climbed into the backseat, tucking a loose curl behind her ear before looking back up at the house. The maids waved from the master balcony, where they had been changing the sheets. Rosalie waved back as Horace started driving.

"You'll have to get used to riding in the back, Rosie." The man sagely advised the rear-view mirror, seeing the woman's uneasy posture.

"It feels weird," she conceded, "I feel like I should be up front with you."

Horace's features belied his amusement. " That is because you are a control freak. One who believe strongly in being equals with one's associates. A trait which will garner you a lot of loyalty. However, you are being my equal by sitting behind me."

"How is that?"

"Rosalie, if we were to get into an accident and you were in the front seat, I would turn the vehicle so I took the brunt of the impact." He stated simply, as if it were the most natural conclusion in the world.

The young woman gasped, "Don't you dare, Horace." Her tone brooked no argument, and yet the bodyguard chuckled and shook his head.

"_That is my job_." He said with an unflinching finality, "Putting myself in the line of fire to protect you is precisely what I am hired to do."

The woman's eyes softened imploringly at him, a silent plea for the man to see sense.

Horace looked again in the rear-view mirror, his shoulders set. "I am your security, I'm here to keep you safe. Which is why I appreciate you sitting behind me. You've taken away the need for me to put my body in front of yours, at least in this scenario."

Rosalie's mouth pursed as she contemplated Horace's meaning. Having them on the same side meant only one side of the vehicle to protect. He would be able to protect her and himself at the same time. The young woman sighed, nodding her head in acceptance. She wouldn't put Horace's life in danger if she could help it, even if it meant being relegated to the backseat.

"I'm afraid you'll have to teach me these things all over again, Horace. I seem to have forgotten this past year what it means to have a bodyguard." Her wide grey eyes peered sheepishly at the back of his head.

The bodyguard chuckled dryly, "Oh don't worry yourself, Rosie. We'll have a bodyguard boot camp on the flight to New York."

A groan of discontent issued from the backseat, drowning out the sound of Horace's amusement.

The deal occurring in the abandoned warehouse on Varna's docks took longer than expected, but Red was very pleased with the purchase. The old warehouse was his, after lengthy negotiations between Howard and the Bosnians holding onto it. The port was an ideal location for small-batch weapons movement into Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Ukraine. Shipments would begin making their way across the Black Sea within the next week.

Happy to be done with meetings for now, the men headed back to the safe house shortly after noon.

The guest house was quiet, the innkeeper's dark suv no longer stood in the shadowed drive. The woman and her bodyguard would be en route to New York already.

Red made a note to ask why she didn't just fly with him and Dembe. It didn't make sense to have separate flights everywhere. Especially once he began forwarding his own clientele to her network. They would be in constant communication, why bother working separately?

The man typically had business to deal with right away when he entered a city, anyway. Her associates could get the majority of the property ready while they were in the air, and she could finish any last-minute preparations once on the ground.

Perhaps she didn't want to fly with them? The woman had an entire network of other clients, maybe she needed the time to coordinate their arrangements?

Red's contemplation was interrupted by an indecent grunt of approval from the kitchen. He walked into the room, eyebrows raised in mild indignation, only to find Dembe taking a huge bite out of a danish. The young man held out a slip of paper with Red's name on it before returning to his treasure trove of confections.

_Raymond,_

_Sorry to have missed you, Horace informed me you had dealings in the marina just as you were leaving._

_I've left the coordinates for your next location in a copy of 'The Odyssey' in the lounge._

_The pastries are also for you and Dembe to enjoy, I'm sure you didn't eat this morning._

_See you in Manhattan,_

_-Rosalie_

Reddington grinned at the variety of delicacies contained under the glass dome. It was a nice gesture, and the man suddenly realized he was absolutely famished. Pulling the cloche off with a flourish, Raymond scoured the pastries, looking for one that spoke to him. Some were filled with deep red cherries, a few held vivid orange apricots, and still others were filled with swirling cream cheese. Red's eyes sought out a lemon pastry before falling on a kolache cradling a deep, midnight purple filling. He plucked the item from the bunch and took a large bite, emitting a grunt of approval similar to Dembe's. Blackberry .

The younger man could be heard chortling next to him. Raymond had inadvertently ended up with a dark purple mustache.

The older man couldn't bring himself to give a damn. He was already looking through the stack of pastries, determined to pilfer all of the blackberry ones.

Dembe reached over, attempting to garner one of the coveted delights for himself. He couldn't contain the laughter as he met Raymond's eyes, which were narrowed peevishly.

"I'll make a deal with you," the man bartered, "I'll trade you one blackberry for a lemon." Red had already noticed Dembe hoarding the pastries in question.

The young man's dark eyes fell to his stash of pastries filled with bright yellow lemon curd, considering the offer. Somewhat reluctantly, he parted with one, sliding it into the center of the kitchen island.

Like a prisoner exchange, Dembe didn't release the golden confection until Red slid a a deep purple one alongside it. Each eyed the other warily for any signs of skullduggery as they pulled their swaps back to their respective sides.

A booming voice echoed into the kitchen, carrying an obvious tinge of amusement. "I've never seen such hostilities over baked goods, lads."

The successful negotiators looked at one another in open concern. Dembe stealthily tilted a cookbook up to hide the remaining pastries from sight. Sharing with Red seemed to be the lesser evil of sharing with Red and Hargrave.

The move was so subtle, so incredibly funny, Red couldn't help but roar with laughter. Wiping his mouth on one of the available napkins, he glanced apologetically at Howard. He nearly offered the man a pastry when a young woman Red recognized as one of the maids entered the room with a basket full of linens.

"Oh!" she squeaked, "I'm so sor-" The young woman was cut short by Dembe pulling his firearm from his back. She had startled the young bodyguard and it seemed that he had startled her, as she dropped the laundry basket with a heavy thump.

Red moved quickly to diffuse the situation. Striding around the island, he placed a hand on top of Dembe's gun, guiding it toward the floor. He spoke gently to the woman, "I'm terribly sorry about that miss, you just surprised him, that's all."

The woman looked with wide eyes at the tall, dark bodyguard before picking up her basket. "It's okay, I'm sorry." Her voice was soft and slightly awed as she scurried from the room with one last brief glance back at Dembe.

Reddington shook his head, chuckling his amusement. "Dembe, you are going to have a difficult time with the ladies if you insist on pulling your gun on half of them."

Dembe's calm, smooth voice filled the room matter-of-factly. "One should always have their wits about them when negotiating a pastry exchange."

Howard Hargrave proceeded to howl with laughter while Dembe smirked around a mouthful of stolen Blackberry kolache.

_13 hours later - August 13, 1998 - Teterboro Airspace_

Rosalie and Horace's flight was uneventful. Other than going back through the basics of her security, the pair spent their time catching up and selecting the remainder of her detail.

They had quickly settled on two familiar faces. Theodore Beaumont and Otto Henschke had worked as guards within the Corsican gang for years. Once Florian had approached Horace for the lead job, the pair immediately offered up their services as Rosalie's security detail. Her head of security indicated both men were looking for a change of scenery and would be excellent candidates. Feeling confident in Horace's assessment, Rosalie had offered Teddy and Otto the positions. The pair were now en route to Manhattan as well.

Horace had just finished a call arranging their transport from Teterboro to the safehouse when he took a seat across from Rosalie. The woman had dozens of papers lined up in neat rows in front of her, satellite phones placed on half of the stacks. She was finalizing preparations for a client seeking a safehouse in Venezuela, her voice chattering in rapid Spanish.

The bodyguard smiled at the sharp cursive writing that splashed several pages in a variety of different languages. The woman was still getting her feet under her, but he had to admit she had a flair for logistics. She had settled three other clients and hired two new property managers in the span of one flight. Knowing this business with Reddington was going to stretch every criminal muscle she had, Rosalie was not about to wait until she was underwater to start hiring more help.

His mind back on Raymond Reddington, Horace looked thoughtfully at the woman across from him, determined to ask the question which had been plaguing him.

Rosalie hung up the satellite phone on the end of a sigh, glad to be done with the demanding client. She looked out the window to see they were making their initial descent into Teterboro. Her eyes turned to Horace, "What?" she asked, seeing his head tilted in question.

"What do you think of Reddington?"

Rosalie took pause. The question was not a simple one, she and the man were all but in bed together in a business sense. She didn't see Horace's point in bringing up the matter now. Raymond had Florian's trust and admiration, that was enough for her. Yet he wanted to know what she thought of Reddington? Her bottom lip worried between her teeth as she pieced together her response.

"He feels familiar," she said, somewhat lamely, "I can't quite place my finger on it, but I feel quite comfortable in his presence. He's an intimidating criminal. The man's power and intellect are practically palpable, but I get the sense that he is reasonable, fair. More than anything, I feel that he is building his empire for reasons other than greed." Rosalie faltered slightly, "Does any of that make sense?"

Horace chuckled, reaching a hand out to pat hers. "Yes Rosie, it does. I'm glad you feel comfortable in your dealings with the man. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable because that's how you actually feel versus you feeling comfortable because Florian told you Reddington was a good man."

Rosalie grinned impishly up at him, "Well, I won't lie, that helped too."

The pair chuckled merrily as the jet landed with a low thump on the tarmac. Their laughter was interrupted by one of Rosalie's satellite phones ringing. It was Reddington.

"Hello, Raymond."

The man's voice rumbled pleasantly through the connection, "Rosalie, I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Not at all, we just landed." The whoosh of the jet's engines made it slightly difficult to hear.

"Excellent, I wanted to catch you before you could make other plans. I propose we meet for dinner tonight to talk shop."

Rosalie's eyes widened in surprise, "Um, sure, that would be lovely... What time?... What should I wear?"

A low, rippling chuckle echoed through the phone as Horace hung his head in embarrassment.

_Did she really just ask what she should wear?_

Rosalie's head thudded into the tabletop as her bodyguard reached over to pat her shoulder consolingly. The woman had sounded like a teenager preparing for a first date.

She could hear Horace sniggering under his breath, "Talk about a _not-so-smooth_ criminal… "

Reddington recovered quickly from her question, carefully biting back the witty retort he was dying to toss her way. He had found in his life that trading barbs was much more fun when you were there to witness the inevitable indignation and eventual rebuttal.

"We're arriving four hours after you. I have a meeting with an associate shortly after we land, so let's say eight? As for clothing…" the man paused, keeping his tongue in check, "I have no doubts you'll rise to the occasion." Red gallantly ended the call, holding his amusement from spilling over into his voice.

Dembe looked suspiciously at him as Raymond pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get his shit-eating grin to abate. He had finally gotten the little minx on her heels.

_Early Evening - August 13th, 1998 - SoHo Safehouse, New York_

The SoHo townhouse was secretly one of Rosalie's favorite locations. The six-story building was perfectly unsuspecting from the outside. Once inside the door, the townhouse was, there was no other word for it… funky . The swooping elliptical staircase with its emerald green runner ran the full height of the home, taking guests from the farmhouse style kitchen all the way up to the fourth floor office.

The interior design was all over the place. The bedrooms were minimalistic with clean lines, while the lounge played off an Art Deco chandelier that made the room feel like a 1920's speakeasy. The living room had elements of postmodernism yet it somehow merged beautifully with the first floor landing, which had a decidedly Asian feel.

The home boasted a lovely little garden which extended from the kitchen for entertaining purposes. A smaller terrace was attached to the office, accessed via a system of cantilevers which tilted the entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows outward. The far end of the little terrace held a spiral staircase leading to the pièce de résistance, a rooftop patio which looked out at the Manhattan skyline.

Rosalie beamed at the view, fluffing the patio pillows again before heading down to change. It was 7:30, Reddington would be arriving shortly.

Like clockwork, Dembe and Raymond pulled up to the townhouse at 7:45. Rosalie met them at the door, ready to give them a quick tour.

The cocktail dress she chose for the night was a classic cut, with long sleeves and a boat neckline which gave the tiniest peek at her delicate shoulders. The deep emerald fabric seemed to flow like water over her feminine figure, lingering in the dip of her waist and surging at the crest of her hips.

Red found himself thinking the woman needn't have worried about her attire. What she had picked was the perfect mix of business and pleasure. The man found himself enjoying the pleasure side of the equation as the woman's hips swayed sensually up the stairs. Her little feet were still bare as she padded around the house, giving the men a tour of the space and showing them to their individual rooms.

Raymond let out a contented sigh as he unpacked in the master bedroom. He liked the quirky townhouse with its melting pot of styles and textures. He fully intended to negotiate the little spot into his deal with the young innkeeper. He did quite a lot of business in New York between the mafia bosses and the shipping routes. The townhouse's location was central to both, and the man felt immensely comfortable in the space. Knowing this would be his residence whenever he was in town would make his dealings in New York much more enjoyable.

A soft knock echoed into the space before Rosalie entered the room. She wrung her hands nervously as she stood just inside the door. "I'm sorry, would you mind if I pop into the master closet for a moment? There's a pair of shoes in there I would like to wear tonight."

"Not at all, though I don't believe I saw any women's shoes…" Red waved a hand toward the room which already held a few of Red's suits hung neatly in rows. He watched the woman flounce into the closet, completely unconcerned.

"Oh, they're not out in plain sight." she chimed, reaching on her tiptoes to pull something from the door frame. A slender key fell into the palm of her hand, which she quickly used to unlock the back wall.

A small space opened to show a variety of paraphernalia. Clothing, personal items, firearms, and what were unmistakably bug-out bags.

Rosalie hummed to herself as she skimmed a scant few shoeboxes, finally pulling one from the stack before locking the wall back in place. She gave Red a passing wink. "Don't go telling anyone about that." she intoned over her shoulder in a conspiratorial voice.

"Tattle? Me? Never." Reddington feigned innocence, going so far as to give the woman a Boy Scout salute.

Rosalie could be heard giggling down the hallway as Red ran his hand over his face. Why on earth had he done a Boy Scout salute? The man shook his head, getting back to the task at hand.

A few minutes later, Red was freshly showered and descending to the main level of the house.

Rosalie was seated in the lounge, chatting quietly with Dembe. She looked up at the man, unable to curb the blatant once-over she gave him. Rosalie had always loved a good three-piece suit, and The Concierge of Crime wore it better than any man she had ever encountered.

The soft dove-grey jacket covered a crisp white shirt that paired handsomely with the silk tie knotted neatly around his neck. Rosalie noted with a tinge of amusement, the geometric tie consisted of a deeper grey, dots of cerulean blue, and a green the exact shade of her dress.

Red caught the woman eyeing him appreciatively. He was hard pressed not to strut into the lounge under such a gaze. Raymond Reddington had a bit of a reputation for being a lady's man, and truth told he never grew tired of feminine eyes raking his form. Rosalie seemed to enjoy the hell out of a three-piece suit, a thought which interested the man greatly.

Red leaned a hand on the door frame and tucked the other in his trouser pocket, gazing smugly at the young innkeeper.

Rosalie realized she was still staring, somewhat lasciviously, at her client. She pinched her wrist, trying to drag herself back to a more innocent train of thought.

The man's mouth quirked in amusement, deciding to give the woman a reprieve. "Shall we?"

The pair rode in relative quiet, Dembe and Horace occupying the front seats. They were heading to one of Raymond's secret haunts for French cuisine.

As the sedan pulled up to the front of a charming brick building covered in deep green ivy, Red looked to Dembe and Horace. "You're sure you don't want to join us? The bouillabaisse is positively decadent."

Horace shook his head, "No Sir, you two enjoy your evening, Dembe and I have a date with the Henchman's bar."

Red chuckled his amusement. The Henchman's bar was a right of passage for criminal security, a place that regularly catered to those guarding the criminal elite. Dembe would find the place very amusing, and as the two large men opened the doors for their passengers, Raymond heard Rosalie telling Horace to keep an eye on the younger man.

"_I mean it_, Horace. Keep him safe. I don't want to wake up to find that sweet boy hungover in Queens or, god forbid, New Jersey."

Horace's face was the epitome of amused innocence. His employer, unfortunately was not buying it for a second.

Before the woman's hackles could raise any higher, Reddington chuckled and placed his hand gently on the small of her back. "I'm sure Horace will take good care of Dembe." the man intoned, guiding her toward the restaurant. He looked back to give the man in question a meaningful look and received a curt nod in response. Assured that Horace would indeed look after the young bodyguard, Red continued with Rosalie into the establishment.

The decor in the restaurant had an old-world glamour that spoke of both decadence and mischief. The large chandeliers, the only sources of light in the place, cast a seductive hue over the proceedings, while the crisp white table linens and gooseberry-hued chairs beckoned to their diners. A suave, portly man in a suit of plum velvet immediately greeted them at the door, referring to Reddington as 'Mr. Givins' . The man led them to a private table in a secluded alcove far from prying eyes.

Their waiter came to take their drink orders, returning shortly with a scotch neat and Rosalie's aviation cocktail.

"You're a gin drinker." Red noted, raising his glass to the women across from him before taking a drink.

Rosalie sipped the pale purple cocktail delicately, "And you're a scotch man." She set her drink down, peering curiously at him. "What's your preferred maker?"

"Balvenie, though Bowmore is also a favorite. What's your poison?"

"Caorunn or Himbrimi. Preferred appetizer?"

"Beluga caviar."

A smile passed the woman's lips as she perused the menu, "Hmm… I'm more of a scallops girl myself."

The waiter seemed to materialize out of thin air. Reddington ordered both appetizers before turning his attention back to Rosalie.

"I must commend your efforts these past few days. Your safehouse network is in fine order. Both locations have been superb, and I think Dembe would marry whomever made those pastries you left us."

"Yes, well, he'll have to get in line with the rest of them." Rosalie tittered, "The pastries were my creation, and next time I'll be sure to make only lemon and blackberry." Her eyes glinted triumphantly over the rim of her glass as she took a sip of her cocktail.

Reddington's tongue prodded the inside of his cheek, he already knew what she had done. "That little maid you had wandering about the house, she wasn't actually changing linens, was she?"

"No," Rosalie smiled good-naturedly, "she was doing a little reconnaissance for me. She noted what things you used, what you didn't, what you seemed to like, what you seemed to avoid. I do it with all my clients. It allows me to continue to cater the space to their needs."

The man nodded his understanding as their first course was set out before them. He took a bite of caviar, groaning his appreciation. The woman across from him was enjoying her scallops too much to tease him. He looked up just in time to catch her popping the soft, sweet morsel into her mouth. Red swallowed thickly, steering his mind away from the little pink tongue he had spied.

"In the spirit of transparency, I must confess a little subterfuge on my part."

The woman stopped to take a sip of her cocktail, her slate eyes watching him thoughtfully. "Would this have to do with The Shutterbug?"

Reddington chuckled as he chewed another bite of caviar and swallowed. Of course she knew, the clever little fox.

Rosalie quirked an eyebrow at him, her smile mischievous. "I take it his little game of hide and seek was fruitless?"

He nodded, "And he was quite annoyed by it too. Nevermind he was getting paid regardless of him actually finding us. The man seemed to take the failure as a personal affront."

The young woman across from him sighed as their plates were taken away, the remnants of their cocktails replaced with glasses of deep burgundy wine.

"Well, we mustn't allow ourselves to be crushed under the weight of his disappointment." she quipped dryly.

The little comment garnered a warm, genuine laugh from her counterpart. The man found her humor quite enjoyable.

Their dinner passed in the same vein, both parties exchanging amusing stories from their travels, their successes and failures laid bare for the other's witty commentary.

Raymond's stories grew wilder and more interesting as dinner went on, leaving Rosalie in peals of laughter.

They had just ordered dessert when the woman remembered what she had been meaning to ask him. "Why did the owner call you Mr. Givins?"

Reddington's head tilted to the side in amusement, "Givins is one of my many aliases. A concept you are all too familiar with, Ms. Alder ." He teasingly referred to her South American alias.

Rosalie groaned good-naturedly, "_Touché_."

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Raymond pulled out a small stack of documents. "Speaking of aliases," he said, his expression turned serious, "I took the liberty of having these made up for you. Since we are going to be working in close proximity, I thought it would be good for you to have a couple reliable sets of documents."

The young woman's surprise was evident on her face as she took the documents and flipped through them. "Raymond, Thank You... I don't know what to say, this is so generous."

The man waved the notion aside, "They're a necessity now, I've had a couple made up for Horace as well."

Rosalie's face turned to a mixture of amusement and exasperation as she thumbed through the documents again.

"...Patricia Sutton?" she asked, her voice giving away her amusement.

"Patty." he teased merrily, "Cheer up, the other one is a petty officer."

The ravishing blonde wrinkled her nose adorably at the second set of documents. "So I'm Patty Sutton, and I moonlight as Petty Officer Virginia Sherman?" Her sharp eyes met Red's, a deep amusement glinting behind her mock-annoyance.

Red's hazel eyes were positively dancing with barely-contained mischief.

"You'll pay dearly for these names, Raymond." The completely unveiled threat held none of the conviction it needed for follow-through.

The discussion would have been odd to any outsider passing their table, but the whole exchange left Red immensely pleased. He was already used to having to defend his propensity for gift-giving, yet the woman hadn't fought him in the slightest on the documents. She took them for the kind gesture that they were and had both thanked and teased him for it. The man found a pleasant warmth coursing through him, he could definitely get used to having the young woman around.

Red poured them both another glass of wine, chuckling in spite of himself.

Rosalie was still beaming a mischievous grin.

They would get down to negotiations eventually, for now he was just a man out to dinner with a beautiful woman.

The sky was alight in New York City as the pair stepped out into the night. It was still early for them, and they had enjoyed their dinner and conversation so much the pair completely forgot to discuss their deal.

"Did you have a place in mind?" Rosalie asked as they strolled leisurely down the sidewalk.

"Already thinking of a night cap?" Reddington teased.

The woman smiled cheekily, taking his offered arm and guiding him East. Her voice held a purr of excitement, "Yes. I have a sudden craving for vintage booze and expensive cigars."

The pair walked quietly for a few blocks until they came upon the mouth of an alleyway lit by a single lamplight next to a grungy looking door. Without a word, Rosalie led him to the light. Reaching up, she carefully unscrewed the bulb just enough for it to go out. The alley was completely dark for a moment before a lamp at the far end flickered into life. Its light was an effulgent blue. Rosalie chuckled softly, guiding them both toward the light.

There was nothing at the end of the alley but the lamp. Reddington was just about to tease her about leading them on a goose chase when Rosalie reached out to the wall next to him; a lone, slender digit extended to prod a solitary brick. To Red's surprise the brick moved, falling into the empty void behind.

A smooth feminine voice issued from the space. "_I hope you guessed my name_."

"_Oh Devil, I daresay I did_." Rosalie giggled right back. The phrase seemed to be a password.

The feminine voice let out a pleased sigh, " Good Evening Patron."

A deafening silence flooded the alley before the brick wall at the end seemed to split in two.

A darkly chic hostess strode out to meet them, "Welcome back, Ms. Øllegaard. _The Tinderbox_ is happy to serve you, and your guest." The woman added, smiling flirtatiously at Raymond.

Reddington smiled curiously up at the unsuspecting building, completely distracted.

'_The Tinderbox_' was a notoriously elusive watering hole. It wasn't criminal per se , the clientele just seemed to border on the grey(er) end of the moral spectrum.

Catering to an inherently conspicuous crowd, the owners of the establishment regularly dismantled and relocated their business throughout the city. The NYPD were baffled, as an entire enterprise seemed to disappear in a puff of smoke whenever they got close. Hence the name, Tinderbox.

Raymond and Rosalie followed the woman into the building, the brick wall falling shut behind them.

The establishment had a distinct aura of delectable indulgence. Its walls varied between white-washed brick and antique mirrors which reflected the many and eclectic patrons. The crown molding on the high ceilings held crimson lights pointing upward, making one think of the red-light districts of Paris. Large spectacular floral arrangements were dotted along each of the gleaming bars lining the far wall. A smoked glass elevator stood off to their right, which Rosalie made a beeline for.

The hostess followed them into the elevator, turning a key to allow them access.

The glass cube sprung up through throngs of patrons to arrive on the building's roof. As the door opened, the pair were greeted by a similarly chic-looking host, "Welcome to _The Cherry_, Ms. Øllegaard. We have your preferred seating available, as well as your usual."

The woman smiled appreciatively at the man, "Thank you, Clyde. Could you please cater to my client's needs? Something from the vintage collection, if you wouldn't mind."

She left Reddington in the young host's capable hands, who guided the man through to the bespoke humidor room. A cigar sommelier immediately provided a variety of recommendations varying from Cohibas and Fuentes to a few rather rare Gurkhas for Red's perusal. Selecting a spectacular Cohiba from the bunch, he also placed an order for a glass of Croizet Cuvée cognac before allowing the host to lead him back to Rosalie.

The woman was relaxing leisurely in a black leather club chair. Her long blonde hair fell over the back of the seat in soft, rippling waves. The slate eyes were closed as she cradled a brandy snifter in one hand and a long Arturo Fuentes cigar in the other.

"An elusive lounge for an elusive criminal. This place suits you." Reddington teased, alerting her to his presence.

Rosalie chuckled warmly as she sat upright in the chair, crossing one black nylon covered leg over the other and taking a puff of her cigar.

Reddington caught a glimpse of a garter strap before the skirt settled back over her silky thighs. The woman was an endless honeypot of pleasant surprises. Rosalie had excellent taste in liquor and cigars, terrible taste in wine, a dry sense of humor and a razor sharp wit that was bound to get her into trouble. She looked sinfully comfortable in this den of criminals, her feminine features enjoying her vices with practiced ease. _Yes_, the man thought, he could certainly get used to having her around.

Once they were both well-plied with their night caps and a pleasant haze of cigar smoke swam around the little alcove, talk turned to their deal.

A partnership between Rosalie Øllegaard and the Concierge of Crime was bound to be a profitable one. Reddington already had five clients waiting in the wings for safe harbor in various locations.

Red's clients would pay the standard rate for access to Rosalie's safehouses, while he would arrange the necessary transport. They negotiated a very lean team of drivers so as to keep as few people aware of the safehouses as possible.

Reddington also wanted the SoHo townhouse as his regular location when in New York, to which Rosalie was agreeable.

The pair negotiated a monthly discounted rate for Reddington's use of the properties since he was utilizing roughly 15 per month and was bringing in so many ad-hoc clients.

Rosalie wanted to be his exclusive provider for safe harbor in regards to his clientele, which Raymond was happy to agree to.

The pair didn't reach a bump in the negotiations until Reddington asked about the extent of her client list.

"I don't allow my clients to know about each other. You know about Howard simply because he told you, but I cannot tell you who my other clients are and when or where they are staying. It's a conflict of interest, I can't have my network being used to settle scores."

The man cocked his head thoughtfully, examining the young innkeeper. "What if I am looking for someone particularly nasty?" he asked, curious to see how she would react.

Rosalie found herself distracted by the man's cigar, seeing his tongue sneak out to dab at its tip. Her pulse raced as she mentally caught up to his question.

"...Then you would need to catch them while they are en route between locations. My network becomes useless if my clients can't trust that their position remains private. I'm sure you understand."

Raymond did understand, though he was not sure he would be so understanding if the situation came to pass. He decided not to force the hypothetical issue. For now, he was satisfied with her integrity.

His next negotiating point stepped into the batter's box, "Another thing I would like is for you and Horace to fly with Dembe and I from now on."

Rosalie looked surprised at this suggestion.

The man continued, "I typically have business to deal with immediately when entering a city, if completing preparations is your concern. I think it would be best for all of us considering you and I will need to be in continuous contact."

He added playfully, "Dembe and I aren't terrible flight companions, and I can certainly stock the bar with a better gin selection."

The young woman tittered softly, Red was attempting to sweeten the pot, which told her he really did want them to fly with him.

"Alright," said Rosalie, "on one condition."

Raymond waited, his head still tilted with an expectant smirk lighting his features.

"The SoHo townhouse has four bedrooms, when you're in New York I wish to stay there as well."

She loved that townhouse, and if she was going to be travelling everywhere that Raymond went, she wanted to be able to stay there as well.

A grin ghosted across his features, "Don't all of your major locations have four bedrooms?"

"Yes-" Rosalie began, but she was cut off.

"Then why don't we just stay at the same safe-houses?" Red asked, his tone perfectly innocent.

The suggestion took Rosalie by surprise. She carefully rolled her cigar and took another sip of brandy before answering. "I would assume you'd want time to yourself-"

Reddington jumped in again, "I would have a bedroom for that. A closed door would mean a desire to be left alone. Though, I readily admit, I won't likely use it. I prefer having company, and I think both Dembe and I would enjoy having more than just the two of us around."

Rosalie was admittedly taken aback by his frankness. She hadn't expected this in their negotiations and she felt rather out of her element.

The man sensed as much, and deliberately waited, giving her time to process. Red slowly drank his cognac and smoked his cigar, waiting for a response. When the woman still hesitated, Raymond touched on what he thought might be concerning her.

"If you're worried about your privacy, I can assure you, you would have your personal space. I certainly wouldn't begrudge you the occasional visitor or bed partner."

The lighthearted comment seemed to pull her from her thoughts, making her chuckle lightly. "I don't know, Raymond, are you sure this is what you want?"

She could see his point, they would be in constant contact if they were to become business partners. It only made sense to fly in the same plane and sleep under the same roof. The more she thought about his suggestion, the more she actually liked the idea.

A small flush crept up the woman's neck to reach her cheeks. Reddington smiled brightly, knowing she had come to agree with his point of view.

"Yes," he rumbled, his voice surprisingly low and rough, "I am absolutely certain."

The little blonde set down her cigar, holding her hand out to the Concierge of Crime. "I believe we have a deal, then, Mr. Reddington."

Red took the delicate hand in his large one, shaking it gently before turning it over and placing his lips gently to the soft skin of her knuckles.

"To a deal well-struck, Rosalie." The man purred, enjoying the flush that returned to the woman's cheeks.

It was the beginning of an exceptional partnership.


	8. A Fine Balance

_3 months later - November 1998 - The Canal Safehouse - Amsterdam, Netherlands_

It was a cool and rainy November night in Amsterdam as a man and woman quietly trudged the cobbled streets along the Amstel River. They had just visited a 24-hour bakery to satisfy a midnight craving and considering the weather, had decided to enjoy their prize back at their residence.

Reaching the area where the river curved, the pair admired their canal house. It stood in a long line of tall, slender homes, each just slightly different from the last. There were varying shades of yellows, reds, and greys, accentuated with stark pops of white trimming and details. The couple's house was a classic brick façade with large arched windows on its face. The deep green shutters were closed on all but the fifth floor, where the soft glimmer of a fire could be seen casting shadows.

It was three a.m. and the woman giggled as she shivered on the doorstep. The man with her chuckled, teasing her under his breath as he pushed the key into the door's lock. Their after-hours excursion hadn't been approved by the rest of the house's occupants, so their merriment quickly turned to shushing as they stepped over the threshold. The pair quickly and silently deposited their coats, hats, and shoes in the hall closet before sneaking through the house with their contraband.

"I'll get some glasses; you take those to the den." the man's voice rumbled in the dark.

A whisper of a giggle reached his ears, "Aye, aye, _Admiral_" the woman tittered, carefully tiptoeing up the stairs. Reaching the fifth floor, she slowly turned the knob on the library's door and stepped inside, trying not to make a sound. The fire was still alive in the marble hearth, bathing the room in a warm, amber glow.

An enormous fluffy sheepskin covered the flooring in front of the fire, inviting the occupants to curl up on its soft, warm surface. Taking a tray from one of the side tables, the woman placed it and the bakery box on the plush rug. She stood up to admire the effect when she felt a shift in the air, like there was someone else in the room.

A large hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream. An enormous arm wrapped around her elbows and torso like a vice. The person holding the woman stood up, lifting her high off the ground. She thrashed against the steel band of the attacker's arms, but to no avail.

A familiar voice hissed in her ear, "It's _me_ you little hornet. Stop struggling!"

The woman's body stopped its movement entirely, tensing in the man's arms. She and her partner in crime had been caught.

She could hear the man's footsteps coming up the stairs and tried to warn him, but all that came out was a muffled "Hmm-Hmm!"

Raymond Reddington stepped into the semi-dark room, brows furrowed in concern.

The woman took the opportunity to nip the hand that covered her mouth.

"_Yuck_, what the-" her captor began to complain, but was cut off by Rosalie's amused cry.

"Run for your life!"

Though Rosalie was positively cackling with mirth, Red's face turned dark and formidable as he glowered at the man holding the young innkeeper.

"What in the _hell_ do you think you're doing with her?" he asked Otto, Rosalie's secondary guard.

The office door closed as Dembe stepped out from behind it and turned on the lights. "We've been expecting you two. Please, take a seat." The young bodyguard nodded to the two chairs seated across from the desk.

Reddington looked incredulously between the guard and the chair, a small smile playing at his lips.

"...Okay?"

He strode over to the chair, casually setting the snifters he had walked in with on the gleaming desk.

Otto deposited Rosalie unceremoniously into the chair next to Raymond, the woman muttering a number of oaths at the guard's retreating form.

Their security detail went to stand behind the desk, arms crossed and features set in a stern manner.

"You cannot keep doing this." Dembe stated plainly, hoping to get the issue resolved quickly so he could go back to bed.

"Doing what?" Red and Rosalie questioned at the same time, sporting identical looks of utmost innocence.

Otto was not fooled, "You know damn well what. This is the third time this week you two have snuck out in the dead of night to go cavorting around."

"Cavorting?" Red asked, intrigued, "How did you know we were cavorting?"

"_I_ wasn't cavorting." Rosalie insisted, "I was gallivanting."

"Oh I do love a good gallivant." Reddington nodded his agreement, crossing one leg over the other, his expression deadpan.

"I also like a nice _romp_."

"Not a frolic?" the young woman asked, enjoying the repartee.

"God no, I haven't frolicked in years." Reddington stated emphatically, "I like to dilly-dally when frolicking, and I just haven't had the time."

"Well, one wouldn't want to lollygag in this weather anyway-" began Rosalie, but her bodyguard had finally had it.

"Enough!"

"It is three o'clock in the morning," Dembe tried to reason, "You have been gone for almost an hour without security."

Otto continued, "Do you have any idea how worried we were? You didn't leave a note or anything to tell us where you went."

The perpetrators turned slightly sheepish at these remarks.

Sneaking off for a nightcap had become a bit of a habit for Raymond and Rosalie over the past few months. A client would inevitably call in the early hours of the morning needing documents or some other nonsense from Raymond, who would then have to wake Rosalie, because the client would then need some type of safehouse nonsense from her. It was impossible for either of them to simply fall back asleep after such an interruption.

Things started out innocently enough; the two would simply make a drink, chat quietly for a half-hour, then head back to a restless night's sleep. Once they realized that was useless, the two expanded to taking a quick stroll around the property. This inevitably and rapidly escalated into the pair sneaking off for hours at a time ordering nightcaps to wind down.

"You could have been injured. You could have been taken. We would have had no idea." Dembe pressed on, "If this happens again we are hiring a night guard to stand by the door."

The gentle threat was laced with a certain truth. If they were caught out again, Dembe would certainly contact Kate Kaplan to hire a night guard. This would, in turn, incur Kate's ire, something neither Red nor Rosalie wanted to contend with.

The pair sat like two properly-chastised teenagers as their security detail stared them down. Rosalie broke first.

"We're terribly sorry, boys. You work very hard to keep us safe and here we are being reckless for frivolous reasons." Her face fell to a gentle half-smile, "You won't catch us in any more post-curfew excursions."

"You will _cease and desist_ your post-curfew excursions." clarified Otto, knowing the woman was being vague on purpose.

Raymond, it seemed, wasn't going down without a fight.

"No, we won't." he stated flatly, turning to his counterpart then back to their security detail. "We enjoy our little witching hour shenanigans and I, for one, won't be stopping anytime soon. We'll hire a night guard."

Rosalie beamed at him, both surprised and immensely pleased.

The statement seemed to shock their guards as well.

After a lengthy silence, Dembe turned to Otto and sighed, "That's as good as we are going to get, I think."

The young man knew Raymond well enough to know this topic was a lost cause. The older man didn't deny himself what he enjoyed in this life, and it seemed sneaking off at all hours with a certain innkeeper had become a fast favourite. Up until the two had been caught, Dembe had heard Raymond and Rosalie laughing, whispering, and merrily sneaking around the house. He couldn't begrudge the man an activity that he took such pleasure in.

As long as they were safe, the bodyguard was content for them to do as they pleased.

Otto sighed in exasperation before nodding and heading back to his room.

Dembe stopped in the doorway, turning an amused glance back at Raymond and Rosalie, the latter having just bumped her shoulder against her companion's in glee, the former looking determinedly at the wall, trying not to laugh.

"You two are still grounded for the night." Dembe chided, pointing between the two. "I'll have my eyes peeled."

"You're going to be snoring in a matter of seconds and we all know it." Rosalie teased, waving him out of the room.

The door closed on Dembe's deep chuckle, leaving Raymond and Rosalie in silence. Red turned to the little woman, a conspiring smirk on his face.

"Well, all of that chastising has made me ravenous."

The woman beamed at him, "You pour. I'll stoke the fire and get the lights."

* * *

A few minutes passed and the pair were happily settled on the enormous sheepskin with their snifters of brandy. The bakery box sat open on the tray behind them, a half dozen kwarkbollen shimmering with vanilla sugar nestled in its confines. The room had returned to its soft orange glow and its occupants basked in the warmth of the slowly crackling fire.

Red leaned back on his elbows, enjoying the quiet. His signature jacket and tie were missing. His shirt had the first few buttons popped, and his waistcoat hung open at his sides, giving him a pleasantly disheveled look.

Rosalie watched the man as he gazed pensively into the flames, the fire lighting up his features. She was glad he wanted to continue their little excursions, she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy them immensely.

A rumbling laugh escaped from Raymond as he turned to find her watching him. "I can't believe you caved so quickly." he teased, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Rosalie looked perfectly scandalized, "Well… I… What was I supposed to do?" Truth told, she was a bit irked herself for her lack of finesse in the situation.

Raymond lifted an incredulous eyebrow, "Tell them to bugger off. Otto is your guard, he's under your employ. If you want to go exploring in the dead of night with one of the FBI's most wanted, you're perfectly within your right to do so."

Rosalie giggled at his choice of words, he seemed rather proud of his most-wanted status.

"Didn't you get caught doing things you shouldn't have when you were young?" he asked, "I know you got up to all kinds of skulduggery when you lived under Florian's roof. Horace told me all about it."

The woman's indignant pout was oddly endearing. "Is that what you two hens do while I'm cooking? Gossip about my escapades?"

"Yes." Red stated pointedly, his eyes closed, "It's quite titillating, the sordid tales of youth. I was particularly enthralled by your ingenuity where your skirts were concerned."

He was referring to her early criminal days, when she had taken up sewing. There was little point wearing a skirt if you couldn't hide a high-calibre weapon inside it, so the woman had gotten a little creative with her attire.

"You should see what I can do with a trouser belt." she muttered under her breath. Red popped one eye open to find her grinning slyly at the ceiling. The expression making him chuckle all over again.

There was a beat of silence before Rosalie spoke, "'..._Sordid_ _tales_ _of_ _youth_?' What a lark. You're what, ten years older than me?"

"Yes." Reddington admitted testily.

Rosalie saw his jaw twitch slightly, changing her tack at top speed.

"_My_ _God_ _that's_ _old_" she heaved a great sigh, only to have a pillow land with a _smack_ on her torso.

She heard Red laughing as he chastised her, "What a cheeky little thing you are. May I remind you, you're nine years older than Dembe."

"Yes, but that's not _ten_ Raymond." she teased, earning her another smack with the fluffy object.

Dancing grey eyes peeked out from behind the massive pillow. "Speaking of that sweet young man, whatever is he doing in your company? I think I should bribe him out from under you with lemon kolaches."

Reddington was grinning in spite of himself. "You leave Dembe alone, I won't have you corrupting him. And stop avoiding the question. You got into a wealth of trouble and I want to hear about it."

"I'm sorry to burst your bubble," Rosalie sighed shifting to lay beside Raymond, propping her head on her hand and smirking at him. "But I never got caught in any skulduggery before I met the likes of you."

Red's resonant laughter filled the room. "Oh, I see, that's why you sat there like a deer in the headlights. You've been up to no good, you've just never been held accountable for your lawless ways."

He was thoroughly enjoying their discussion, all thoughts of winding down for the night were put aside as he contemplated the chortling woman laying across from him. A river of fire traced the edges of her silhouette as she lay on her side. The long sleeved cashmere dress was draped comfortably over her form, her bare legs shining with the light from the flames. She certainly looked like a criminal in her black attire, her face split in a wicked grin.

She finally confessed, "I have a penchant for sneaking out. Even when I was a teenager. I was gifted at getting in and out of the house unnoticed."

"And where, pray tell, did you sneak off to?"

"I wouldn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities…" her voice held an innocence her face could never match.

"Come now, I'm sure you couldn't shock me. What was it, vandalizing? Underage drinking? I'm sure you had an old beau throwing pebbles at your windows at least."

"Oh I did those things too," Rosalie tittered, "My favourite was escaping to go stargazing with Billy Wilkes. He picked me up down the street from my house, an air mattress perfectly nestled in the bed of his dad's old pickup truck."

He shook his head at the boy's brazen attempt, "How romantic. Where did he take you for this _stargazing_?"

Rosalie rolled to her back, the memory making her laugh and cringe at the same time. "Out to the sticks. One of the horse paddocks on his old man's farm. There are no lights out in the countryside, we were kissing in the dark under a natural planetarium."

"I'm sure that's all you were doing, being the impressionable youth you were."

"Oh that's definitely all we did. You see, poor Billy didn't realize air mattresses tend to go flying when you're tearing down a dirt road."

Reddington let out a barking laugh which echoed in the quiet room. "He didn't."

"Oh but he did, the mattress made its way across two farms before getting popped by the electrical wire running the stud's fence at the McCalister's farm." Rosalie's eyes were watering with glee now, "His mother was terribly confused, his dad…not so much."

The pair couldn't contain their merriment any longer, the room filling with laughter at the hilarity of adolescence.

Slowly, the sounds of their amusement died away and the only noise left was the crackling of the fire. Raymond turned his head to see Rosalie's eyes getting heavy. "Time for bed, you little deviant."

Sleepy grey eyes looked up at him, "Nope. I shared a tale from my criminal origins, now it's your turn."

"I stole a strawberry bismark from Trudy Svoboda when I was 11," he offered, "It was the beginning of a long and lustrous career."

The woman giggled softly, "That's not a very good story…" she mumbled, her lips curled into a soft smile as sleep continued to pull her under.

Raymond watched Rosalie relax further into the fluffy sheepskin, her breath evening out to soft puffs. He considered scooping up her little frame and taking her down to her room, but Red worried she might not appreciate him infringing upon her personal space. It was warm in the room, and the large pillows were extremely comfortable. They could stay here for the remainder of the night.

The man stood slowly, padding across the floor to a stack of merino blankets. Pulling two from the top, he dropped one on his large pillow and unfurled the other. He moved the throw back and forth in front of the fire, taking the chill out of it before carefully draping it over Rosalie.

The young woman let out a little mew of contentment, cuddling the blanket to her. A tender smile crossed Raymond's lips at the action. He curled up in his spot across from the little innkeeper, his eyes suddenly very heavy.

* * *

Rosalie woke later that morning to the dying embers of the fire and a roaring storm outside. Opening her eyes, she saw Raymond dozing across from her. She smiled in pleasant surprise, for she had never seen the man asleep before. It was odd, seeing him so relaxed.

Opting not to wake him, the woman carefully draped her blanket over his exposed legs and tiptoed out of the room. She wanted to shower and get ready for the day before getting breakfast going.

Raymond woke some time later in a delightfully warm tangle of blankets.

Rosalie had obviously headed down to get ready for the day. The rumble of thunder outside reminded him that they were leaving Amsterdam today. It was a pity, Red found he quite liked the canal house. However, business was taking him to London, and if they were planning to leave later that morning, he needed to get a move on.

The man stretched languidly before getting up and making his way toward the master suite. He would need to shower and pack before breakfast with Rosalie and their guards. Stepping into the steaming shower, Red's thoughts turned to the young woman in the suite across the hall.

In the three months that had passed since beginning their arrangement, Red had learned a lot about the young innkeeper.

Rosalie had spectacular bed head in the mornings. She was not to be teased about said bed head until she had her first sip of coffee.

The kitchen was entirely her domain, and rightly so, the woman was an exceptional cook.

She had an army of maids spanning multiple continents solely for the fact that she despised cleaning and was admittedly terrible at ironing.

Peaches were a horrendously vile creation in her regard, the disgusted glares she shot the fruit were enough to level a small city.

Rosalie was a quiet observer, with a knack for picking up on Raymond and Dembe's every desire. She knew to make Dembe's omelette first, no pork, extra veggies. She knew Red preferred his with toast, white, not wheat, jam, not jelly.

The pair shared a fondness for blackberries, but the woman only liked them cold.

On the mornings where a blackberry would mistakenly make it into her piping hot oatmeal, Red would gallantly pluck the offending item from the bowl and pop it into his mouth.

He had a sneaking suspicion she purposely dropped them in on days when Raymond's appetite was poor.

The man was surprised to find, though her criminal persona was a fiery little hell-cat, Rosalie's true nature was warm and affectionate. Inside the sanctuary of her network, she allowed this gentle, caring side of her to come to the fore. It made each home positively radiate comfort.

A few weeks into their arrangement, Rosalie became more comfortable showing affection for Red and Dembe. Her delicate form would come treading barefoot into the kitchen most mornings, reaching to pat Horace's back, squeeze Dembe's shoulder, and skirt her fingertips gently over Red's neck as she passed each of them. Horace mentioned it was a long-standing habit of hers. Raymond found himself leaning into that touch each morning, expecting it, wanting it.

Today was no different as Rosalie tiptoed into the kitchen, pausing to ruffle Horace's hair and pinch Dembe's ribs playfully. Her long hair cascaded down her shoulders in a riot of curls, still slightly damp from her shower.

Red, having just finished getting ready for the day, sat at the kitchen table with a copy of the local newspaper. Soft feminine fingers carded through Red's hair, making the man lean into the touch, humming appreciatively. All too soon, the little hand left its pastime in search of the coffee maker.

The kitchen was soon filled with the scent of fluffy omelettes, toast, and fresh fruit as Rosalie readied breakfast for the troops. The woman beamed at Dembe, holding out his usual plate filled to the brim.

"I think she's determined to feed you till you pop, Dembe." Red commented, garnering a grin from the young man and a glare from the little woman.

"You just bite your tongue, he's a growing boy, and I'll have yours ready in a moment." Her tone brooked no argument as she passed a plate to Horace. Otto had already left for Germany to attend a family function.

True to her word, Rosalie handed Raymond a plate moments later. Her knowledge of his every whim was on full display. White, not wheat, jam, not jelly. The woman had intuitively made his omelette half its usual size, knowing he would not be very hungry after the 3 AM brandy and baked goods. The man's appreciation was evident on his face as he gave her a passing wink.

Once the four were seated, talk quickly turned to their plans for the day. The trip to London was the first in a long line of European locations which would carry them into spring. The beginning of April would bring business in Havana for Raymond and Dembe, while Rosalie and Horace needed to be in D.C.

This would be the first time their little group was split up since they began their arrangement.

* * *

As they all loaded into the car later that morning, Rosalie went over a few safety precautions with Raymond.

"All of the safehouses have hidden exits, should you need them. The one in Havana is behind a bookcase in the lounge. Should you ever need a blacksite, you will need to call me. There should be a phrase, something you don't usually say, that will alert me to your situation."

"How about 'Rosie-dear'?" he supplied, "I never call you that."

Rosalie's head tilted to the side. It was true, though other people called her 'Rosie' quite regularly, Reddington never did. "Why is that?" she asked curiously.

"Some names lend themselves well to diminutives, ours do not. I prefer to call you Rosalie just as I prefer to be called Raymond." he stated simply, "Now, what if I'm in a pickle in which I can't talk freely?"

Rosalie smiled, tapping her pen against her lips. "I'll ask you a yes or no question. Yes means you can talk freely, no means you can't."

Reddington nodded, pleased with their plan. He didn't much like the idea of leaving Rosalie and Horace in Washington, but he did not fully trust the people he was working with on the deal in Havana. Red would rather not have the young woman in harm's way if everything went to pot.

The flight to London was uneventful, and while the plane taxied, Raymond and Rosalie readied themselves for work.

Reddington was looking sharp in his usual suit, this time in a midnight blue. He donned a dark grey trench over the ensemble, making a mental note to have their winter coats unpacked and loaded on the jet.

He reached back into the closet and nabbed a pale taupe trench for Rosalie, who smiled her thanks and shrugged into the garment. It was quite chilly today, and she was glad of the warm cashmere sweater she had chosen to pair with her pencil skirt.

Raymond admired the softness of the cream-colored garment when his fingers brushed it. "I want one of these sweaters." He commented, cocking his head to the side as Rosalie turned, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"I think it might be a tad short for you, dear." she teased, "Besides, the suit is much more manly."

"I would like a men's version of this sweater, for relaxing around the safehouse." He clarified, shaking his head.

"Who is this relaxed Reddington you speak of?" she asked, eyebrows raised impishly, "I haven't met him."

Red chuckled at her cheek, shooing the woman off his plane.

The pair parted with a wave, their security details in tow. Raymond had meetings with several bankers over the course of the day to finalize a few larger acquisitions for his shipping routes while Rosalie was checking the safehouse before meeting with a couple clients and touring a potential property in South London.

They agreed to meet up for dinner later that night, once everything had settled.

* * *

Later that evening, Dembe and Red piled back into the town car, pleased to be finished for the day.

"What time is it?" the older man asked, tossing his fedora onto the seat next to him.

"Seven. We should be heading for the safehouse; you don't want to keep Rosalie waiting." Dembe smiled knowingly.

Raymond laughed, "I certainly wouldn't. Knowing that little chit, she would go without me."

Raymond and Rosalie's dinner 'meetings' had become a regular occurrence since that first night in New York. Every couple of days they would venture off to enjoy the local cuisine and nightlife. Reddington looked forward to these little rendezvous, the young innkeeper had turned out to be an excellent dinner companion.

Rosalie felt likewise, thoroughly enjoying the secluded hours in each other's company. Raymond had an absolute treasure trove of stories and opinions that never failed to intrigue and amuse her.

On these nights, they discussed work only so far as their next location, any mutual clients, and what their immediate plans were, which took all of one cocktail to brush past.

After that, their discussions fell to books, travel, music, philosophy, and the taboo. The pair never ran out of things to talk about, but even the silences between them were comfortable. They would occasionally run into acquaintances or old friends who would join them for a meal or a drink, but mostly, the two kept to themselves.

Most notably, the pair had gotten into an unspoken competition of who could locate the most unique and unexpected establishment for their rendezvous. Rosalie found an off-the-rails Mediterranean restaurant for dinner in Sydney, but Red had one-upped her with a nightcap in an abandoned observatory called 'The Skylight'. The week prior, Red had found an actual underground bunker bar, but Rosalie had awed with a private gastronomy experience in a restaurant called 'Ultraviolet'. They took their wins and losses with no small amount of gloating, thoroughly enjoying the challenge.

* * *

That night, Rosalie was practically bouncing with repressed excitement at their post-dinner plans. Following a magnificent beef wellington in a gorgeous restaurant along the Thames, she led Red down a cobbled street, Horace and Dembe following at a short distance.

Honing in on her intended location, Rosalie turned beaming towards Reddington, "You aren't claustrophobic, are you?"

His eyebrows shot to his hairline at the question, "Should I be concerned for my health and well-being, Rosalie?" he quipped, "You can't be that hard-up to win our little game."

A shiver of excitement ran down the young woman's spine. "Not at all, I plan to win purely on merit. I just wanted to be sure you wouldn't be opposed to a tight squeeze."

Her bright eyes gave off that sparkle of mischief Red was becoming terribly fond of. He grinned, reveling in the little ingénue's choice of words.

Rosalie guided them toward a classic big red telephone box. The thing was perched like a sentinel in the mouth of an alleyway beside an ancient church. Turning to face Raymond, the woman reached a hand back to open the door. Not taking her eyes off the man in front of her, Rosalie cautiously brought a hand up to his tie, pulling him into the space with her.

Red closed the door behind him, an instantaneous desire not to be interrupted enveloping him.

They hadn't been in such intimate proximity since that day in São Paulo when they first met.

Reddington wasn't as large as Horace and Dembe, but he was still broad, tall and incredibly masculine. All traits of which Rosalie was suddenly and acutely aware. The scent of his aftershave lingered in the air around them deliciously as the woman tried to gather her wits about her.

Raymond's eyes grew impossibly dark in the tiny space. He had been amused at first, a small smile playing at his lips. However, when Rosalie had gently and hesitantly pulled him by his tie into the booth, the atmosphere completely changed. Something about that gesture, coquettish and hesitant, yet brimming with desire. It had made the man weak at the knees.

Red was not the only one, however. The little woman was practically trembling in front of him, the electricity in the air sparking at her nerves.

Reddington wrapped his arm around her little waist, his large hand splayed possessively over the small of her back.

Rosalie's other hand came up to rest naturally on Red's chest, completely caught up in his proximity. His tie was still firmly clutched in her left hand.

The man leaned forward, pulling her feminine figure tight to him, eliciting the sweetest gasp from his counterpart. A creature which had been lying dormant in Red's chest for some time had lifted its head, purring its approval at the sight of her.

The woman's grey orbs were molten, nearly black in the unlit booth, and they were flickering between Red's eyes and lips as she quivered in his arms.

As Raymond leaned in closer, his nose brushed teasingly against hers.

Then, Rosalie heard the 'click' of the phone's receiver being picked up.

"Who are we calling?" Red asked, his face the very definition of innocence while his voice was a husky rumble that bordered on indecent.

Rosalie blinked rapidly, her mind trying desperately to crawl back to their purpose for being in the booth. "42873" she whispered, her voice tremulously belying her state.

Reddington gave a throaty chuckle, enjoying the effect he had obviously had over the woman. He prodded the requisite numbers, his other hand still holding her tight to him. He held the receiver to her cheek, fingers brushing the soft skin as a disembodied voice echoed from the other line.

"Password?"

"Gooseberry Lay" murmured Rosalie, her entire being focused on the fingers caressing her cheek.

Red liked the way her lips formed the words.

"Very well." The voice responded, before the telephone box descended slowly into the ground.

It took every ounce of self-control Raymond possessed not to pin the Rosalie to the wall of the booth and devour that pretty little mouth as they descended into darkness. The inability to see made him exponentially more aware of the feel of her pressed against him and the palpable tension in the small space.

The air around them practically crackled, making Rosalie shiver in Raymond's grasp. The darkness made her brave, and the young woman found herself leaning into his form. Her nose brushed his again when the lift came to a shuddering halt.

A rumble of discontent escaped them both as the door swung open, bathing them in a golden light.

A roaring burlesque club exploded around them as they stepped into the cavernous space. The telephone box headed back above ground to Dembe and Horace while Raymond and Rosalie got their bearings.

Outside of the stifling booth, it was easier for them to shake off the feelings of heady arousal. The pair laughed sheepishly at each other, chalking it up to too much excitement in a small space.

Everything went back to normal as their bodyguards arrived in the lift. Their charges were positively howling with laughter at seeing the two large men jammed in like sardines. Their laughter only increased when they started trying to wriggle out of the box.

"Why didn't you take separate trips?" Rosalie wheezed, clutching her sides.

Both men straightened their jackets stoically, neither willing to admit they hadn't thought of it.

Thankfully, a hostess arrived to take Raymond and Rosalie to their seats, saving the men from having to explain themselves.

* * *

"_Gooseberry Lay_?" Red asked as they were lead to a curved booth upholstered in peacock blue velvet.

Rosalie tittered jovially, "It's 1920's slang for stealing someone's garments off the clothes line. I thought it was a terribly clever password for a burlesque bar…"

A stage was perched in the center of the room where the arches met, amber lights swirling back and forth over its gleaming surface. Several little bistro tables lined the space in front of it, while the plush booths were nestled in secluded alcoves around the perimeter.

Peering around the edge of the booth, Rosalie could see Horace and Dembe taking their usual posts at the bar. The latter smiled softly at her and gave a little wave. Horace, on the other hand, pulled a face at her. The woman narrowed her eyes at the guard. Not one to tolerate such cheek, she flagged down a nearby bus boy to coax him into bringing Dembe a tall glass of his favorite beer, while also bringing an obnoxious cocktail with a flamboyant umbrella to Horace.

The boy was amused yet slightly terrified as he walked up to the two huge men. Dembe raised his glass in thanks, making Rosalie beam. Horace gave the boy a look that could curdle milk, making his young charge burst into peals of laughter.

Raymond peered around the booth with her, watching the exchange with unguarded amusement. It warmed him immensely to see Dembe becoming friendly with Rosalie. The pair beamed conspiratorially at each other from across the room like two siblings plotting a magnificent prank.

Looking around at the arches and old stone walls, Red suddenly realized the space they were in was an ancient, unused catacomb. It was likely attached to the decrepit church next door. The space and concept were, truthfully, breathtaking.

When a waitress arrived with their drinks in naught but pasties, a feathered headdress and a matching crimson G-string, Red turned his gaze to his business partner.

Rosalie was utterly beside herself. The minx knew she had won their little game, and was grinning at him like the cat who caught the canary.

Raymond held out his hand, which the young woman took, claiming her victory.

The show was a decadent affair. The acts were wild, funny, and held an undertone of sensuality that both Raymond and Rosalie thoroughly enjoyed.

* * *

Halfway through the second act, Rosalie had been forced on stage, as Horace had convinced one of the waitresses it was her birthday. The audience sang to her and a scantily clad performer taught her a dance with a pair of voluminous ostrich feather fans.

Dembe and Horace could be heard wolf-whistling from the bar, making the woman's face flush a luminous pink.

Rosalie finished the dance in good humor and to a roaring round of applause. As she sauntered back to their table, she shot daggers at Horace, who waved merrily back. Raymond couldn't withhold a grin as she slid into the safety of the booth amid wolf whistles from all three of her cohorts.

"My god, I need a drink after that." she sighed, taking a long sip from her cocktail, her cheeks still ablaze.

"I had no idea you had such a talent with fans." Reddington chuckled, shaking his head.

"Horace will pay dearly for that. Though truth told, I would have really enjoyed it if there weren't so many people around" The young woman smiled at the troop of bejeweled and feathered performers, "I think I would thoroughly adore being a burlesque dancer."

Raymond's mind suddenly held a vivid image of Rosalie's shapely form nude on an amber-lit stage, her more delectable bits covered by two vibrant blue ostrich feather fans. Something of his thought process must have shown in his face, however, as the woman quirked an amused eyebrow in his direction.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she purred.

Red merely winked in reply, finishing his scotch. He was pleased to note the gesture had brought another flush to the woman's already radiant skin.

* * *

_The Mayfair Flat – London, UK_

The group made their way back to the safehouse in the wee hours of the morning, the November chill chasing them quickly inside.

The house's occupants happily readied for bed, it had been a long and eventful day.

As Reddington set about changing out of his suit, his thoughts turned to the array of stunning homes they had stayed in for the past three months. His partnership with Rosalie was turning out even better than the he had expected. Business was booming for both, and they had hit a stride in their dealings that felt effortless.

Raymond's day-to-day dealings aside, the man found he was happier with this new setup.

He hadn't anticipated becoming such good friends with the little innkeeper; however, their common interests and general personalities made the friendship almost inevitable.

Rosalie understood the complexity of running a criminal empire, and he found her celebrating his successes and commiserating his losses along with him. Likewise, Red understood the precariousness of a newly-minted criminal empire, and found himself going out of his way to try and guide her towards the most profitable options.

What was more surprising was Rosalie's receptiveness to Raymond's assistance. She listened to his every word, thinking extensively before making any moves. Horace often teased her that the sound of her brain whirring to life overpowered the sound of the plane's jets.

Raymond found it endearing.

The woman had even started seeking him out for opinions on locations and potential clients.

Rosalie was in the favorable situation of not having to seek out new clientele; they were coming to her in droves on recommendations from current partners. This was good for business, but the woman knew she needed assistance in choosing whom would be allowed access to her network. And so, she had sought out Red.

It had made the man feel incredibly good, to be able to help her. Being the Concierge of Crime, Red seemed to know everyone in the criminal underworld plus their barbers, their lovers, and their first-cousins twice removed. They would often sit in the lounge, Rosalie perched on the arm of his chair, to look over her potential clients. Reddington gave her useful information on the good ones and steered her away from the nastier characters, knowing they would be bad for business and potentially dangerous to her.

Rosalie took his recommendations without question, thanking him sincerely for his assistance.

A smile flitted across Red's face as he continued to think about the excellent balance he and Rosalie had struck.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock, Dembe hesitantly entered the room with a burner phone in hand.

"Raymond, we have a problem."


	9. Loyalty

The Mayfair Safehouse - London, UK

Red's brow furrowed at Dembe, "What happened?"

"You wanted to know when Patrick made contact. He has not. An associate went looking for him three hours ago."

"Did they find him?" He asked, feeling as though he already knew the answer.

Dembe handed him the burner phone, his expression sombre. "He was found on a side street of Munich Square. I'm sorry, Raymond."

Red looked down at the phone with a sigh. Patrick Bergmann had been his key contact in Munich, and a good friend. The man was supposed to be finalizing a weapons exchange for information coming out of the Munich underground, but something had obviously gone terribly wrong.

"How?"

Raymond could tell by Dembe's tone that Patrick was dead. Their only option now would be to find who killed the man and why.

"Shot," sighed Dembe, "four times in the chest."

Reddington grimaced. Several gunshot wounds would be difficult to explain to Patrick's wife. The woman had no idea who her husband's true employer was.

It was often easier for the families of associates to believe a lie than to believe their beloved family member was involved with the infamous traitor Raymond Reddington. Red's people would likely fabricate a story of a robbery gone awry during a simple business trip.

The lie always made the man's stomach roll in distaste.

"His family?"

"We are taking care of it. A trust will provide for them financially, however, they will still need to be notified."

Red thought for a moment, his eyes scanning the room. "I'll ask Kate if she would inform the family. She has a bit more tact with these things." He dialled the familiar number and waited for the woman to pick up. On the third ring, a crisp voice cut the air.

"Raymond."

"Kate, I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?" he drawled pleasantly.

"Not at all, dearie. What do you need?" She sounded completely unsurprised. Of course, she already knew about Patrick. She had been waiting on Reddington's call.

"I'm afraid Patrick Bergmann is no longer with us. I need you to contact the family. Feed them a story they'll be willing to swallow about his death."

"Consider it done. Is that all?"

"No." Raymond stared pensively at his suitcase, "I'm heading to Munich tonight. We'll need to get a jump on this if we are going to find the person responsible. I would like you to meet us there, and bring our newest acquisition."

"You think you're going to have trouble getting the intel you need?"

"Possibly, I'm also curious to see the man in action."

A dry chuckle left the phone, "We'll be en route to your location within the hour."

Reddington closed the phone with a snap, returning the object to Dembe. They would need to leave for Germany as soon as possible.

Heaving an exhausted sigh, the man stepped across the hall and knocked on Rosalie's door. He found himself smiling as a feminine giggle issued from within.

"One second!" called her tipsy voice, "I've got an arm where a leg's supposed to be…"

Raymond's mood lightened considerably. His head rested on the door frame as he heard the woman inside stumble and knock something over, swearing under her breath. Catching Horace out of the corner of his eye, Red beckoned the man to him.

"Dembe said you need to leave?" the guard questioned in his smooth Egyptian accent.

"Yes. One of my associates in Munich was found dead. Unfortunately we need to go deal with the matter, and quickly."

"My apologies. Losing a man is never convenient or easy. Rosalie will want to help, of course. What can we do?" The man's earnest eyes looked expectantly at Reddington, who actually chuckled.

"I need you to get this one a cup of coffee." He inclined his head at the door where another giggle could be heard.

Horace let out a barking laugh at this, a large hand coming up to run sheepishly over the back of his head. "She was good and embarrassed at getting called on stage… The gin might have snuck up on her. I'll be back in a moment."

As the bodyguard's hulking frame made its way down to the kitchen, Rosalie's door finally opened.

The woman was in a white long sleeve shirt and green silk shorts. Her hair was down, lying in pleasantly dishevelled waves that paired well with her flushed cheeks. She seemed to have gotten into a fight with her usual floral kimono, the article lay strewn haphazardly in the vicinity of the woman's suitcase.

"Sorry," she mumbled, "minor wardrobe malfunction." Her hand gestured irritably in the direction of the fallen garment.

"Well, thankfully you won't need the kimono where we're heading." He teased, trying to sound flippant.

Rosalie could hear the strain in his voice, however. "...What's wrong?"

"One of my associates has been killed, I need to leave for Munich. Tonight."

Rosalie's eyes widened in concern. "Come in," she said softly, some of the tipsiness leaving her voice. She grabbed Raymond's hand and tugged him to the bench at the foot of her bed.

"Tell me everything."

The woman's tone was so genuine, Red simply stared for a moment, taken aback. She still held his hand gently in hers, her thumb stroking back and forth across its surface.

Snapping out of his stupor, the man relayed Patrick's place in his organization and the purpose of the deal which had taken him to Munich in the first place. He then divulged that Patrick had gone dark that afternoon and Red's people had been scouring the city for him, only to discover the poor man's fate. Hence his need to head immediately for Munich.

"Oh Raymond, I'm terribly sorry. I'll have the safehouse in Munich opened immediately. Of course, Horace and I will be at your disposal."

As if on cue, Horace came in with a steaming mug of coffee, his obsidian eyes glancing surreptitiously at their joined hands.

Rosalie released Red in favour of taking the proffered cup. "Thank you, I'm going to need that." She patted Horace's face in thanks. Then her eyes narrowed as she remembered the man's shenanigans at the burlesque club, causing her to pinch his cheek irritably.

"Ow!" Horace chuckled, swatting the little hand away. "I'm going to go help Dembe get things packed up."

"You're damn right you'll go help Dembe." the woman groused, swatting his backside out the door. Raymond sat shaking his head and trying not to laugh.

Turning sedately, Rosalie reached into her bag and pulled out the infamous black folio before climbing onto the bed. She leaned back against the pillows with her legs crossed and plopped the book in front of her. With her cup carefully balanced on her knee, Rosalie reached over and patted the space next to her, fixing Raymond with a look that brooked no argument.

A smile twitched at the corner of the man's mouth. He did as he was bid, sitting on the bed next to Rosalie and swinging his legs up. The still slightly inebriated woman seemed appeased, going so far as to reach over and card her fingers through his hair. She kept her hand threaded through his short locks as she rifled through the folio. Red found himself tilting his head closer to her, luxuriating in the feel of her nails running along his scalp.

"Munich, Munich, Munich." The woman mumbled to herself, turning page after page of the folio.

Raymond realized this was the first time he had been able to see the item's contents. Rosalie was usually quite secretive with the thing. He was taken aback by the sheer number of homes contained in its pages. True to the woman's style, the book had an extensive color-coded system, seemingly organized by continent.

Finally, Rosalie found the home she was looking for. A glossy photo of a modern flat lay open on the page, its fellow holding a plethora of names and phone numbers for her associates in Munich. Taking one final sip of coffee, the woman set it aside and crawled across Red to grab her phone.

The close proximity brought Raymond hurtling back to their little incident in the telephone box earlier that evening, but Rosalie seemed oblivious to his plight. She let out an exasperated sigh as her arm wasn't quite long enough to grab the phone, her slender fingers wiggling frustratedly just millimetres from the object.

Red couldn't help but notice the woman's reaching had brought her across his lap in the age-old position usually reserved for delivering a swat to someone's backside. The decadent thought was too much for the man, who quickly reached out and snatched the phone, handing it to her with a darkly amused glance.

"Thank you," the woman tittered.

Then, realizing just how far she had invaded the man's personal space, she flung herself back into the pillows, mortified at her lack of decorum. "Oh my… I'm so sorry, I didn't realize-"

"Nothing to worry about." Red chuckled throatily, trying to think of anything but the way the little minx had felt draped across his lap.

Rosalie's face was crimson again as she nibbled her bottom lip. As far as Raymond was concerned, that expression wasn't helping his present situation. Thankfully, she shook her head a moment later and returned to the task at hand.

Settling into her work, Rosalie placed call after call in rapid German, ensuring a property manager was en route to Munich with maids and other associates in tow. She finished just in time for Horace and Dembe to arrive in the doorway.

"Transport is ready." said Dembe, "We will be wheels up in 30."

"That's my cue to pack." sighed Rosalie, sliding off the bed.

"You don't have to come." Raymond offered, noting the fatigue in the woman's voice. "Dembe and I can deal with the issue and meet up with you."

Rosalie turned, brows furrowed, all tipsiness gone.

"No." she stated simply, picking up her abandoned kimono and folding it.

"No?" Raymond smirked, a little surprised at her brevity.

"We," she pointed at herself and Horace, "are going with you. I told you we would help and that's what we'll do." Her tone told him there was no use in arguing. She added as an after-thought, "And when we get there you are taking Otto with you. If someone is out for your associates they might be out for you. Honestly, you could do with the extra security."

No argument was made by her counterpart, partly because Raymond was stunned silent. If he wasn't so jaded, he might have thought the woman genuinely cared about his well-being.

Rosalie, confident she had made her point, shooed the trio of chortling men out into the hall to complete their own packing.

Red's Jet – Farnborough Airport - London, UK

Half an hour later, the jet was taxiing for take-off.

Rosalie had already called Otto, who would be waiting with their transport upon arrival. She was set on sending the surly guard with Raymond and Dembe, if only for his ability to speak German. It also calmed her nerves to know another body would be there to lookout for Reddington.

Once they were in the air, the woman sat dozing in her usual seat. Red and Dembe sat across from her, discussing their situation in Munich.

Truthfully, Raymond hadn't the faintest idea who might have killed Patrick. Red had made enemies in his time as a criminal, certainly, but he couldn't see any of them coming into play on this. To the best of his considerable knowledge, none of them were even in Europe at the moment. The deal that was being finalized didn't step on any toes that he was aware of. There hadn't been any particularly loud voices of opposition from competitors, either.

Dembe wondered aloud if they might be playing into a trap set to bring Raymond to Munich.

Red tilted his head back and forth, considering the idea. It was possible, but that wasn't what the man's gut was telling him. If there was a subversive plot to get him to Munich, he would have heard whispers about it somewhere. He dismissed the idea, thinking it seemed counterintuitive to distrust his instincts after surviving on them this long.

What concerned Raymond was whether Patrick's death was a one-off issue or a symptom of a larger attack on his organization. The man knew there would come a day when the real threats to him and Lizzie would start rolling in. Red sincerely hoped this was not the beginning of it all. Though he doubted he would ever feel truly 'ready' for that day, he had hoped to have garnered a bit more weight behind his empire before needing to do battle with it.

Raymond's eyes fell to Horace and Rosalie, both sleeping deeply in their seats. He had been surprised at the young woman's insistence that they help in the search.

If this really was the first shot over the bow in an all-out war, the man hoped he could count them both as comrades in arms.

Munich

Upon landing, their group stepped out into the night, all were wide awake after their brief catnap on the plane. The decision had been made to head out while the trail for Patrick's killer was still warm.

Otto was waiting for them with a large black SUV, yawning and stretching the sleep from his limbs as they approached. Dembe took the keys, gesturing Otto to the passenger's seat, leaving Red, Rosalie, and Horace to the back.

They arrived in Munich Square shortly after, greeted by a contingent of Raymond's associates.

Rosalie smiled softly to herself, watching the man don his fedora like a battle helmet. His dark grey suit and swaggering posture gave off an air of power and cunning which made the horde of intimidating associates pale in comparison. Red was a formidable character at the best of times, but seeing the man in action was rather thrilling, truth told.

In fact, it all proved very distracting for Rosalie. The woman found herself eyeing the broad expanse of Raymond's shoulders interestedly. She abruptly stopped her perusal of his person when Dembe caught her looking. His eyebrow lifted coyly at her. Rosalie met his gaze with one of utmost innocence, making the man flash a deeply amused smile.

Reddington quickly doled out tasks, locations, and people for his associates to pursue. Anything that could possibly give them a lead was to be brought to him immediately. His associates took to their assignments with enthusiasm, scattering hurriedly out into the night in search of the culprit.

The young woman was admiring the conviction of Reddington's men when a shadowy figure cleared its throat beside her. She jumped slightly before recognizing Baz, Red's burly head of security. He smiled down at her in wry amusement. Thankfully, the man had forgiven her for chucking him into the elevator while on the run in São Paulo. Apparently he found the whole ordeal quite funny.

"Rosie" he inclined his head smugly, knowing he had made her jump. "Boss" he added stoically, reaching out to shake Reddington's hand.

Knowing Raymond wanted to deal with the matter as quickly as possible, Baz started walking them to one of the square's side streets. "We've already secured the crime scene from local police. I figured you'd want to examine it before the feds could contaminate it."

Red gave a curt nod of agreement. Baz held up the red and white police ribbon for them to step under, before walking his employer through the attack. Raymond's eyes were narrowed, carefully taking in every detail of the gruesome scene. Pinprick flecks of blood could be seen leading up to a heavy wooden door. The man recognized the signs of a body having been rested against its face.

The group stood solemnly gazing at the spot. The entire bottom half of the door and its frame were coated in dark red blood. They all understood, this was where Patrick had died. Red removed his hat, eyes never moving from the door. He would kill the man responsible, he promised himself. He would not stand for this.

Rosalie's heart swelled at the gesture. She had picked up on many of Raymond's habits and ticks over the past few months, but this one was new. She felt a rush of affection and empathy for the man.

In their world, loyalty was an elusive trait and a loyal friend was the rarest of gifts. Patrick had been both, Red's gesture intimated as much. Rosalie glanced at Horace with a look that commanded her organization help at all costs. The tall bodyguard gave a silent nod of agreement.

Unbeknownst to the pair, they were being watched carefully by Baz and Dembe, who exchanged looks of their own.

After scouring the crime scene for all available evidence and sending Baz to garner the surveillance footage from the museum across the street, the group headed for the safety and comfort of the safehouse.

Rosalie's team had just finished and were stepping off the elevator when the troop arrived. The property manager spoke at length with the young woman before handing over the keys with a jaunty wave to her cohorts.

The Munich flat was perched atop a classic brick building, but the flat itself was modern in design. The front walls and the staircase were made of glass and dark metal beams, giving the home a spacious, open feel.

Rosalie guided her guests to their rooms, gently nudging them to go to bed. She was just walking past the master suite when Red came to lean tiredly against the door frame. She stopped and leaned on the other side, giving him a soft smile.

"I need to bother you for another favour, my dear." He sighed, a little rueful.

"Anything, Raymond." she assured, looking up at him, her eyes kind and warm.

The statement brought a wry smile to Red's face, "Mr. Kaplan and Baz are going to need a place to stay, would you mind getting them set up?"

"My team is already opening the third Munich property." She said, glad to be a step ahead of the game.

"Third?" He asked, his tone impressed.

"Yeah, an old client is in the secondary house. This town is a hotbed, it's been essential to have a few properties. Munich 3 will be ready shortly, I'll give Baz a call before I go to bed."

"Thank you, Rosalie." he rumbled, pushing off the frame, "Dembe and I are going to hit the ground running first thing tomorrow."

She nodded and turned to head for the secondary master suite.

"Get some rest Raymond, we'll get your man."

Red smiled softly at her retreating form, warmth and affection flooding his system at her words.

Red and Dembe left early the following morning to view the surveillance footage Baz managed to acquire. Meanwhile, Horace and Rosalie headed out into Munich in search of other helpful intel. The young woman had a few contacts in the area whom she could lean on for information that might be useful.

Rosalie was worried about Raymond. She could imagine how much damage had been done due to losing Patrick. The man had a meeting that very morning to try and salvage a deal which Patrick had in play upon his death. Rosalie could empathize; if she lost a long-standing property manager just as a big client was coming in, she would be livid as well. The young innkeeper voiced her concerns to Horace as they left her property manager's apartment empty-handed.

"I'm sure you're very concerned, seeing as you're dating the man." Horace nodded sagely.

Rosalie stopped in her tracks. "What on earth are you talking about? Raymond and I aren't dating."

"Right, you just happen to go on romantic candle-lit dinners every two days. Definitely not dating." He replied, his tone dripped with sarcasm.

"Nonsense," she scoffed, "We have dinner every few days to talk business."

This wasn't entirely true, she and Raymond talked shop for all of one cocktail before steering their conversation to everything but business. However, Rosalie wasn't about to tell Horace that.

The man wasn't fooled, however, she was avoiding the point. He voiced his disbelief as they climbed back into the car. "You spend every evening and half of most days together. How much business could you possibly have left to discuss?"

Rosalie was about to launch her retort when Horace added, "And don't think I didn't notice your cosy little exchange in the telephone booth."

The woman visibly stiffened. "...Exchange?" she stammered nervously, "What exchange?"

"Rosalie," her guard sighed, looking at her in the rear-view mirror. "My job is to protect you. Which means I notice things. Do you know what I've noticed?"

The woman shook her head minutely, eyes glued to his reflection.

"I've noticed that you and Raymond Reddington are thick as thieves. No pun intended." His beetle black eyes danced merrily.

Rosalie smiled at this. She did feel close to Raymond, truth told, but that didn't mean that there was anything else between them. She told Horace as much.

"I'm glad you've found a friend in the man, just tread carefully there, yeah?" He asked, holding her eyes earnestly.

The woman turned to look out the window, her demeanour somewhat diminished.

"Of course, Horace." she murmured, "I always am."

The Glass Flat - Munich, Germany

It was late afternoon when Raymond and Rosalie met back at the safehouse.

Baz's surveillance footage turned out to be invaluable. Several associates were now on the trail of a man who chased Patrick into the alley. Once they located him, they would be able to get a lead on the shooter and finish this mess.

Rosalie's contacts had also delivered, providing an outline of Patrick's movements as noticed by a variety of maids, valets, and hotel staff. They now had a working timeline between Patrick's last contact and his estimated time of death.

The concierge and the innkeeper sat in the lounge after a late lunch, going through the intel they had gathered.

"Where have Dembe and Otto run off to?" Rosalie asked idly, noticing the pair's absence.

"They've gone to pick up Mr. Kaplan and guest."

"Guest?" her brows knit together in confusion.

Red tilted his head, meeting her gaze. "Kate is bringing a new associate. Someone skilled at extracting information from unwilling parties."

Kate Kaplan stepped into the room, eyebrow quirked imperiously. "You rang."

A portly, good-natured man came to stand next to her, smiling leisurely at Red and Rosalie, who stood to greet the new guests.

Mr. Kaplan gestured at the man with a small glove-covered hand, "Raymond, this is Ted Brimley, Ted, this is Raymond Reddington."

Raymond greeted the man genially, "Mr. Brimley, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I wish it were under better circumstances."

Ted Brimley was a kindly man, but he had a voice like a foghorn. Rosalie bit back a giggle when Raymond's eyebrows hit his hairline as the man spoke.

"I'm sorry to hear about your guy, I'll be happy to help! I'll just need a bucket of dry ice, a pair of rubber gloves, and a trampoline!"

It was Rosalie's turn to raise her eyebrows in shock. She wondered what Brimley's role was as the man's grey-blue eyes swivelled to hers.

"And who might this lovely zeeskeit be?" Ted asked in his friendly but booming voice, taking Rosalie's soft hand in his bear-sized one. "You look like my last wife!" he bellowed.

Rosalie's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh really? Do I look like your next wife?" she quipped, completely deadpan.

The statement knocked the tension right out of the room, making the men roar with laughter and causing Kaplan to roll her eyes.

Rosalie patted Ted's hand as she let out a tinkling laugh, guiding the man through to the lounge so he and Raymond could talk.

Baz called in the dead of night to inform Red they had captured the man who chased Patrick into the alley.

Raymond had him taken to Kaplan and Brimley at the flat Rosalie secured for them down the street. He would let his new associate begin his work, and hopefully would have some answers in the next few days.

Later that morning, Raymond and Dembe stopped by to check Brimley's progress. They found the man stepping out of an alcove in the building's boiler room, rubber gloves up to his elbows and breathing heavily.

"He's ready for you, Mr. Reddington." He beamed at his employer, giving him a salute.

Red was impressed to say the least. He thought it would have taken a few days, surely. Ted Brimley had broken the man in a matter of hours. If Raymond was able to get the information he required, he would be employing Ted indefinitely.

"Thank you, Mr. Brimley," he turned to Dembe, "Well, let's see what he knows."

Both men removed their coats and headed for the door hidden in the alcove, Red stopped to thump Ted's shoulder in appreciation before they strode into the dark room.

Their captive sat on the floor, arms tied to iron pipes running the length of the wall.

His shirt hung open, revealing bright red welts from Brimley's diligent care. His head lolled to the side as he chuckled deliriously, showing crooked yellow teeth.

Dembe stood by the door as Raymond took the wooden chair across from their captive. He leaned forward, steely eyes narrowed at the young man.

"The gentleman you saw shot in the alley was an associate, and a friend of mine. You seem to know who is responsible. I don't need to explain what happens if you don't give me what I want. Do I?"

The man shook his head dazedly.

"Excellent." Red leaned back and crossed his legs, placing his fedora on his knee. "Talk."

The sharp command made the man on the floor jump slightly. "I was hired to chase a man down the alleyway. Not to shoot, just to pursue."

Red's eye twitched in irritation, "Who hired you?"

"...Altan" mumbled the man, looking up at Red, "He said his name was Altan."

Raymond glanced up at Dembe for a moment, seeing the young man give an almost imperceptible shrug. The name didn't sound familiar to Red either.

"How did you meet this Altan?"

"Came up to me in the bar, where your man was getting a drink. Asked if I wanted to earn some money. I said yes."

"How were you paid?" Red asked, eyes still boring into him.

The man looked miserably down at the floor, "Cash, tucked in a cocktail napkin. A couple hundred marks to chase him down, a couple hundred marks to keep my mouth shut."

"What denominations?"

"50's, all 50's."

Red's head tilted to the side, seemingly examining the man for any falsehoods. The look unnerved their captive, who offered up his last bargaining chip.

"The man you're looking for, he's in some special secret network. Invitation Only."

"How would you know that?" Red snapped, his tone cutting the air like a knife.

"Bragging about it, he was…" the man drawled through a hideous grin, thinking he had garnered Reddington's favour. "Houses that can't be found. Places that don't exist. He knows you're after him and he has taken to a very deep hidey-hole." The man snorted and spat a mixture of blood and phlegm on the floor.

Both Raymond and Dembe wrinkled their noses in disgust, the former rising out of his chair. He'd heard enough. The bastard thought he was safe, but his cackling laugh was cut short as Red pulled his weapon and fired two shots into the man's chest.

Mr. Kaplan immediately stepped into the room with a troop of cleaners in tow. She patted Raymond's shoulder gently before setting her team to work.

Red thanked Kate and stopped to speak with his newest associate on his way out.

"Thank you, Mr. Brimley. Your reputation is well-earned. If you are in agreement, I would like to keep your services on retainer. I could make excellent use of your talents."

Brimley smiled his lackadaisical smile and nodded, "I'd be delighted!" he boomed, shaking Red's hand jovially.

Raymond and Dembe slid into the confines of the sedan moments later, grateful to be out of the dark and dank boiler room.

"What now?" asked Dembe, uncertain what Raymond's next move would be.

Red sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I only know of one person with a network like the one the man described."

The man's hazel eyes met Dembe's dark brown ones in the rear-view mirror, "Rosalie."

Dembe came quickly to the woman's defence, knowing Red's thoughts on loyalty. "Rosalie would never knowingly harbour such a man."

"Perhaps," said Reddington, his mood rapidly souring, "There's only one way to find out."

The younger man ruefully started the car, not relishing the fact that he was bringing a nasty altercation to the young innkeeper's doorstep.

Late afternoon

Arriving back at the safehouse, Red went in search of his business partner. He strode into the lounge, finding her on the chaise, an assortment of paperwork laid out in front of her.

She smiled softly up at him, "How did things work out with Brimley?" she asked, her interest evident, "Have we got a lead?"

Raymond's wry smile caused her to take pause. Something was off.

"We did get a lead, a big one at that." He sighed, dropping his fedora on the coffee table.

Reddington idly flipped through some papers left for him by Baz before adding, "When you have a moment, I'll need to see your client list. One of them may have information we could use."

Red had decided to breach the subject of Altan indirectly. He wanted to gauge the woman's loyalty, and leading with an accusation that she was harbouring the man was guaranteed to get her hackles raised.

"No."

The man did a double take, hoping he had not heard correctly. "Sorry?" he asked, his tone showing his surprise.

"I said no, Raymond." Rosalie stated categorically, then clarified, "I told you when we first made our deal; my network is not to be used to settle scores. I won't give away a client's location."

Horace and Dembe had just stepped into the room. They halted and looked nervously at one another, neither sure how this could possibly end well.

"Let me rephrase my request," Red's voice was gravelly, all pretence gone, "The man who killed Patrick is rumoured to be hiding in your network. I need to know where he is."

Rosalie's mind was fraught with confusion and agitation. Who on earth was rumoured to be in her network, and where did all of this come from?

"Who am I supposedly hiding?" She asked, her tone defensive.

Raymond watched her expression carefully, "A contract killer named Altan."

'There you are.' He thought viciously as he watched the woman's cool and calculating criminal persona take the reins, her face becoming an impassive shield. Altan was definitely her client. The question was, had she known about his indiscretions before this moment?

"I'm sorry Raymond, I can't give you a client's location." Rosalie spoke, her voice aloof, belying a calm she did not feel.

"Rosalie you can't be serious, this man killed one of my people."

Her eyes softened, "And for that, you have my empathy. I will do everything I can to help you catch the man, just not at the expense of my network."

An anger Red knew was somewhat unreasonable reared its ugly head. He had been worried about this code of hers since that night in New York, and now the issue had come to pass.

"Your empathy?" Reddington's voice was dangerously soft. "I don't think you understand what it means, an attack like this, on an organization like mine."

It took quite a lot to push the man to the point where his anger showed, but Rosalie's seeming indifference had somehow taken him there in a matter of minutes. Months' worth of tension which had been building between the two came to a boiling point as the formidable opponents faced off, airing their grievances.

"I've been in this world long enough to know it's likely a shot over the bow, Raymond. One for which you will need allies to overcome." The woman's ire was roaring beneath the surface, "I can't provide you safe harbour if my business goes under for betraying the agreement I have with my clients."

"You're putting your own profit before justice for a man who was murdered in cold blood." He viciously accused.

"No," Rosalie insisted, her retort snapping like a mousetrap. "I am putting this network above your need for immediate and violent retribution. My network, which is utilized by you and hundreds of others. You're asking me to compromise my organization, to put my people in danger."

She couldn't believe he was being so unreasonable. Rosalie could state categorically and for a fact, Raymond wouldn't blow such a hole in his own organization. Why on earth would he ask her to do so?

The air in the room suddenly crackled with a terrible tension. Both parties stood stock still, staring at each other in anger and disbelief.

Red's deep drawl echoed in the room. "So, like every other criminal, your loyalty is to yourself. I must confess, Rosalie, I find myself disappointed." The comment cracked through the air like a whip.

Rosalie's expression was icy. The fact that Reddington was calling her loyalty into question was obviously causing the woman no small degree of pain.

Her usually gentle voice seared like acid as it rippled through the room. "Raymond what you don't realize is that in the past three months our worlds have become so entwined, I don't know where yours ends and mine begins. Yes, my loyalty is to my network. You, Dembe, your entire organization are all part of that now. You are my network!"

A deafening silence filled the room at Rosalie's statement. Both parties were quietly fuming, rallying their nerves for the next round.

Horace realized with a jolt that they made quite the pair, vicious snarling criminals that they were. Both held roaring tempers in perfect check, allowing their razor sharp minds to do the battling for them. It was interesting to see the two hurling barbs at each other that would cut grown men off at the knees, while neither combatant allowed so much as a twitch in response to their opponent's goading.

The young woman took a shuddering breath, stormy grey eyes locking with Reddington's. "Dammit Raymond, I'm not going to let you burn down your house for the sake of killing one rat."

Without another word, Rosalie turned on her heel and left the lounge, slamming the door behind her. Furious to the point of potentially saying something particularly nasty, she had opted instead to remove herself from the situation. The woman snatched a trench from the coat closet before stepping out into the night, intent on cooling her roaring temper.

Her guard remained, feeling the need to explain. "Just...give her a bit to cool off." he told Reddington, "You've stoked her temper to an inferno, and she's only walked away to make sure that acid tongue of hers doesn't ruin your friendship."

"Did she know about Altan?" Red asked pointedly, needing to know the depth of her betrayal.

"No." said Horace confidently, "Altan has been in the network longer than you have. He became a client sometime last spring. He's a regular in Munich, stays in the secondary safehouse at least once a month."

The information was met with a curt nod as Reddington moodily poured himself a glass of scotch.

"You should go," suggested Dembe, "Rosalie shouldn't be walking the streets alone."

The bodyguards shared a quick glance, both conveying they would do their best to salvage the separate parts of the whole. Horace then turned to follow his charge out into the darkened streets.

Dembe swivelled placidly to look at Raymond. The man's hazel eyes were cold and hard as they stared him down.

The guard understood, Raymond considered this issue a test of Rosalie's loyalty, which the man felt she was failing miserably. Dembe, however, knew this couldn't be further from the truth. The young innkeeper was infinitely loyal, she was merely struggling to trust Raymond with what was essentially the lifeblood of her empire. They hadn't yet reached the point in their partnership where they had to place such a blind trust in one another. Now, it would seem that outside influences had forced them to a crossroads.

It was obvious that Raymond and Rosalie cared for one another.

They had become accustomed to their new arrangement and found they enjoyed it immensely. Dembe knew Raymond was upset because this apparent disloyalty indicated he could not trust the woman he had grown so fond of.

Dembe didn't need to be clairvoyant to know the young innkeeper felt the same way. The woman sought his happiness and comfort above all else. Rosalie was naturally kind and affectionate, yes, but those traits took on a new meaning where Raymond was concerned. Dembe doubted there was anything she would deny Reddington.

The bodyguard held his smile in check as he realized the two were not fighting about the Patrick situation at all.

Raymond was concerned about loyalty.

Rosalie was concerned about trust.

If Dembe could get the man to see that her hesitation had nothing to do with disloyalty and everything to do with her feeling vulnerable, he knew Raymond would allow the disagreement to blow over.

He voiced his opinion. "I think you've mistaken Rosalie's hesitation for disloyalty.

"I think you're being naïve." snapped Red, his temper getting the better of him. It seemed he may have already lost Rosalie, he didn't need Dembe turning on him too.

The younger man quietly pulled up a seat next to Raymond, staring determinedly at him. When the man's legs were crossed and his scotch back in hand, Dembe spoke again.

"Horace and I, our job is to look out for you and Rosalie. This means we see a great deal of things that the two of you miss. Do you know what we've seen?"

"No" grumbled Reddington, "but I'm sure you'll enlighten me regardless."

Dembe's dark eyes held his, "We see how well you work together. How Rosalie's every move is meant to bring you comfort, how you make every effort to guide her toward safe business decisions. Your association has grown into a genuine friendship, which is an incredibly rare gift."

"I would argue her hesitation indicates the feeling is not mutual."

The younger man couldn't withhold a small smile at Red's sullen tone.

Finally, they had gotten down to the truth behind the man's anger. Raymond knew full well his attachment to Rosalie already ran deep, and the thought that she may not be of the same mind was painful for him.

Dembe's tone was soothing, "Rosalie is hesitating to give you her client list because it makes her incredibly vulnerable, Raymond; a state which you yourself do everything in your power to avoid. It has nothing to do with loyalty."

Reddington was about to argue his point when the young man cut him off.

"Imagine if she were to demand you give her the location of your document forger. How many of your clients would be put in danger by dispersing that knowledge? Can you say without question you would trust her with such sensitive information this early into your alliance?"

Another deafening silence met this question. Raymond's face was set in a scowl, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek irritably.

Dembe continued, "She is looking at you and seeing a man she has known for three months. A man she has been working with, that she's been building a business relationship with, but who is ultimately still new and intimidating."

"I haven't given her a single reason to distrust me." barked Red, the very notion of the young woman thinking him untrustworthy felt like a slap in the face.

"No, you haven't." Dembe agreed, "But the kind of trust you are asking her to show takes years to cultivate. You are asking her to confide in you the very foundations of her business, her life."

The man paused for a moment and considered Dembe's words. Would he have responded in the same fashion were he in her shoes? His inner criminal responded with an emphatic 'yes'.

The overwhelming realization hit him that he had crossed a line with his young business partner.

Dembe smiled as he saw understanding dawn on Raymond's face.

"I have no doubt that Rosalie would give you your man." the bodyguard's voice cut through his employer's musings. "In order to do so, she needs know she can trust you with that information. If any of her clients were to find out, her entire network would become useless. Her clientele would no longer be able to trust her. That would not only put them at risk, it would put Rosalie at risk, it would put her people at risk, and it would put your organization at risk."

The truth of the man's words seemed to click into place. In Red's frenzy to find and neutralize the threat outside of his organization, he had thoroughly rocked the boat within it. Rosalie's hesitation was about protecting Raymond just as much as herself.

"Well, now I have another problem," sighed Raymond, "What do I do about Rosalie?" He understood the mistake would need to be rectified as soon as possible.

"She will be back," Dembe reminded, "Horace assured us as much. She just needed a moment to cool down."

The man smiled softly, reaching for the scotch to refill Red's glass. "As it turns out, she has quite the temper. Like someone else I know."

Reddington chuckled dryly, "Ye, well, I can take a little constructive criticism."

Red thought back to his argument with Rosalie and found himself rather impressed with the woman's moxie. There were grown men that would back down from an argument with Raymond Reddington, yet the little spitfire had not shrank in the slightest. Instead, she insolently planted her little feet and shouted him down. It was a rare experience for the man, encountering someone truly capable of standing toe to toe with him.

Raymond looked around the room, suddenly feeling the loss of the young innkeeper. The house already somehow felt colder, less comfortable without her there.

"What do I say when she comes back?" he asked Dembe, his voice a gravelly rumble.

Dembe rose from his seat, intent on leaving the two to sort things out. "Be honest. She wants to trust you; give her a reason to do so." The young man added, "And you need to explain to her why her loyalty is so important to you."

The older man's eyes softened at the advice. "Sometimes, Dembe, I think you have a better grasp on this humanity thing than the rest of us."

"That's my job." said Dembe, smiling as he left the lounge.

Munich Square

Rosalie's heeled boots hit the cobbled streets at a steady clip. Her stomach was still roiling in anger as she shrugged into her trench. She focused on her breathing, willing her mind to quiet its incessant replay of her argument with Raymond. Rosalie was still shocked at the altercation and what it had revealed.

The man thought her disloyal, a cardinal sin in their world. She knew there was no truth to the accusation. Rosalie had known Altan was a contract killer, but she'd had no idea the man was responsible for the death of one of Raymond's associates. The woman would have given him up before he even reached the safehouse.

Why then, did it bother Rosalie so much when Red had asked her to divulge the man's location?

Her inner criminal found the answer to be quite obvious. She valued her empire as a symbol of the life she had built. The young woman had spent most of her early years hearing what everyone else thought she should and shouldn't be. Becoming a criminal had been like stepping into her true self, and becoming involved with Reddington had been like coming home. Their arrangement had brought everything full circle in an unbelievably short amount of time. Now, she couldn't imagine being a criminal without him. The man's attempt to push her for information that could capsize their boat had both angered and upset her.

Her hesitation had nothing to do with loyalty and everything to do with trust. She hadn't known Raymond long enough to divulge something capable of so much damage.

Yet, she thought, the man had never given her a reason to distrust him. Not one single reason. Rosalie suddenly felt sheepish for even thinking she could not rely on him with something so important.

Really, was all of this worth losing him? Rosalie hadn't stopped to fully consider the fact that Raymond Reddington, somewhere in their dealings, had become a very dear friend.

Regardless of what she had told Horace, Rosalie knew there were feelings flickering within her which extended beyond an innocent friendship with Raymond Reddington.

Was she willing to give up what they had built simply because she was afraid to trust someone so deeply? The very notion of allowing fear to control her business decisions was unlike Rosalie. Her scowl deepened as she considered the danger of allowing herself such a shortcoming.

In the distance, Horace smiled, having finally found his charge. He sidled up to her as she was standing at the edge of Munich Square, near the alley where Patrick died. The woman was huddled in on herself, mouth moving wordlessly as she mumbled her grievances to the night.

The gesture made the man chuckle; mumbling had always been a nervous tick of hers.

Horace could sympathize with the woman's nerves. She adored the Concierge of Crime, try though she did to hide it.

In truth, the bodyguard had never encountered someone who spoke to Rosalie's spirit the way Reddington did. He seemed to know her, inside and out, effortlessly. The woman could deny it all she wanted, but Horace knew Rosalie could see much more in Raymond Reddington, too.

That was why she had responded so viscerally to the man's accusations. To have felt such a connection, only for him to try and bully sensitive information from her, it had shaken the woman to her core.

"Go home, Horace." Rosalie's voice was cold and steady as she turned to look at him.

He gave her a wry smile, his dark eyes softening, "Not without you, I'm not. In case you've forgotten, there's a murderer on the loose."

The woman's jaw twitched, "Well it seems the murderer is in my home, or one of them anyway. Frankly, I feel there's little to fear on the streets of Munich tonight."

Her bodyguard's eyebrows rose imperiously, her retort still held a sharp bite to it.

"I know you're upset," he soothed, "But you and Reddington aren't going to fall out over this."

"I don't know, Horace. Did you see how angry he was?"

The guard laughed, his smooth voice bringing a calmness to the proceedings. "Yes, he certainly didn't flinch away from you, you little hell-cat. I think that's a first."

"What's a first?" she asked, turning to continue her walk.

Horace fell in line beside her, his voice teasing, "I think that's the first time you've had an opponent worthy of your prowess."

The woman let out a derisive laugh, "Yes, I guess so. That's me, the frigid criminal who's too much for anyone to contend with." Her tone was light, but Horace could sense the hurt behind it.

"I meant that you've finally found someone of your calibre. You and Reddington, you have much in common. You balance each other well."

Rosalie's brows rose irritably at this, her eyes turning to look at Horace with mild incredulity.

"Well, usually, you balance each other well." he amended with a laugh, "I think that's why the altercation bothered you so much."

His charge kept silent, walking diligently across the square.

"I know, it makes you nervous to trust the man," Horace conceded, reaching out to grab her shoulder, halting her progress. "But you know, you're going to have to trust someone at some point. Why not him?"

"Were you not the one who just this morning lectured me to be careful with him?" she snapped grumpily.

A knowing smile lit Horace's features. "Yeah, but that was before I saw him pick a fight with you. Honestly Rosalie, the two of you need to solidify your little alliance as soon as possible; because I don't think anyone else could contend with you two."

Rosalie realized with a jolt that Horace was right. She and Raymond needed to reach such a level of trust, for the sake of their business association at least.

She also realized that one of them would have to extend the gesture first.

…Why not her?

The dark grey eyes that usually held so much mirth and mischief were filled with fear and anxiety as they turned on Horace. Rosalie was afraid. Looking at where they had arrived, the guard could understand why.

Rosalie's feet had made the decision for her, carrying her to her destination without thought. She glared fixedly at the house on the end of the street, her stride purposeful as she came up to the gate and slammed the buzzer.

"Altan, it's Alder, we need to talk."

It was the wee hours of the morning before Rosalie returned to the safehouse.

Raymond was still in the lounge. His anger had abated, and hearing the little woman walk back into the house was a relief. Red considered going out and apologizing. After speaking with Dembe, he understood it was asking too much of her to potentially put a hole in her own business. They could wait until Patrick's killer was outside of Rosalie's network to get him.

The woman in question stepped into the doorway as Reddington stood. Her windswept blonde tresses fell wildly over the jet black trench coat she wore. Her nose and cheeks were a rosy pink from being out in the cold.

They stared at each other a moment, unsure who should speak first.

Finally, Rosalie's voice broke the silence. "We should wake Dembe." she suggested, not bothering to take a seat or remove her coat.

An icy feeling crawled into Red's stomach. Was he too late? Would their partnership be over already?

"Why would we do that?" he asked quietly, trying to read her features. The woman was all business though, wrapped in the armour of her criminal persona, and Red could garner very little from her face.

"Because we should have some kind of security with us, and I want as few people from my organization as possible to know that I've put our partnership before the sanctity of my network."

It was a bold statement, and the young woman was still concerned as to whether she had made the right decision. The self-preservation mechanism that only criminals truly appreciated seemed to thrum in Rosalie's gut, warning her not to divulge, not to trust the man before her.

Yet she found herself wanting to do so.

Criminals were forever doing business when they couldn't truly rely on one another. Rosalie wanted to believe she could trust Raymond, and how could she do that if he didn't feel he could hold her in the same confidence?

Reddington stood stock still, the shock written plainly on his face. Of all the scenarios he had thought of for when she returned, he did not fathom this one.

"Why?"

He couldn't help the question, he needed to know what had changed. What had brought her back and convinced her to trust him?

"It is difficult enough, doing business with criminals one can't possibly trust. I won't have one sleeping under my roof. If we are going to do this, we need to know we can rely on each other completely and without question. So, I'm giving you your man."

She pulled a small black book from her jacket pocket and strode to stand nose to nose with Raymond.

"I realized I hadn't given you a good reason to trust in my loyalty. So here it is." She held the book out to him, "I'm trusting you not to destroy me with this. Please don't make me regret it."

Flabbergasted. That was the appropriate word for Raymond at that moment. He was utterly flabbergasted at the woman's gesture of confidence.

Despite her insistence that she would not give away the names or locations of her clients, here they were. Rosalie stood before him determinedly holding an olive branch.

What Raymond did next would dictate where their partnership headed from here.

He took so long to respond, Rosalie moved to leave, thinking him too angry to bury the hatchet.

"Thank You."

Raymond's sincere tone was enough to make Rosalie stop in her tracks.

Reddington set the book on the desk as he stepped closer to her, taking her hand in his.

"I asked too much of you today." He stated without preamble, "I didn't just ask, I demanded. I demanded you do something which you said from the beginning you couldn't do."

The man hesitated, choosing his words carefully. He needed her to understand how important this was to him.

"I have been on the run for nearly nine years. I've dealt with betrayal seemingly all my life, long before I became the man you see in front of you. Yet when I became a criminal, the importance of loyalty gained a whole new meaning." His thumb brushed soothingly back and forth over the woman's hand, "We live in a world without law, rules, or any semblance of order. Loyalty is everything, Rosalie. It is the only commodity which can't be bartered, bought, or traded. Not true loyalty, anyway."

"Like Dembe." She said softly, knowing full well the man had likely snapped at the young bodyguard earlier.

"Yes," Raymond agreed readily, "Dembe is one of a great few. Dembe, Mr. Kaplan, and you."

Her grey eyes snapped up to meet his, surprise written clearly in their depths.

He continued, "You are, without question, unflinchingly loyal. It was wrong of me, to insinuate otherwise. You protected me, even from my own shortcomings. You, as you so eloquently put it, refused to allow me to burn my own house to the ground. And for that, you have my loyalty and my trust."

Raymond picked up the book and placed it gently back in Rosalie's hand, closing her fingers over its cover. "This thing that we've built, it is too important to lose. We can find Altan another way."

Rosalie stared at him in disbelief for a moment before putting the book back in her jacket pocket. It was hard to believe they'd had a spectacular argument over this topic just a few hours ago. It seemed they were both willing to set aside their issues for the sake of their partnership. The thought warmed the woman considerably, bringing a soft flush to her already rosy cheeks.

She looked sheepishly up at her business partner. "About Altan," she murmured, "We don't need to look for him."

Reddington's expression fell, concern etching his features. "What did you do?" he asked tentatively.

"That's why I said we should wake Dembe," she explained with a grimace, "I have him."

Red's hazel eyes widened at her. Out of every available option, that had been the last answer the man had expected.

"What do you mean, you have him?"

"I have him in a secure location outside of the network." She shrugged, gesturing the man out the door.

It was the first time since she had walked in that Red had taken a close look at the woman's right hand. The knuckles were red and one had a nasty scrape.

"You didn't." He groaned his disbelief.

"I did. He's cuffed to the pipes of an abandoned warehouse of Florian's." She picked up Raymond's scotch and took a sip, grimacing at the burn.

The man chastised her, "What were you thinking, going by yourself? You could have been killed."

Rosalie smiled softly at his concern before rolling her eyes. "Not likely." she scoffed, "Altan was an oblivious imbecile who thought every woman was crazy about him. It was painfully easy."

She added, "And besides that, Horace was with me."

"Where is he now?" Red asked incredulously.

"Keeping an eye on Altan. I wouldn't just leave him chained up unsupervised."

The two looked at each other with bemused amusement, trying to catch up to everything that had happened in the past few hours.

"Well, if you're ready," Red sighed, "I would like to finish this."

The young woman smiled softly, taking his hand and guiding them out of the lounge.

Florian's Warehouse - Munich, Germany

Dembe had been awake and waiting when Raymond and Rosalie knocked on his door. He smiled knowingly at the pair, seeing their differences resolved for the time being.

Baz was called to bring Brimley and Mr. Kaplan to the warehouse where Altan was being kept. Since the man was a contract killer, there was likely someone else behind him orchestrating the attack. Raymond needed to know who that was.

The group met at the warehouse half an hour later, following the young innkeeper into a side door of the building. Horace stood sentinel beside a figure on the floor, its head was covered with a black cloth, the arms spread eagle, cuffed to a set of pipes.

Reddington strode over and tore the cloth unceremoniously from its perch.

Rosalie watched the man at work, a shiver skirting down her spine as she heard the man's vicious rumble.

"Hello Altan, I'm Raymond Reddington."

The man's eyes widened as he realized the powerful man standing over him was the employer of his last target.

"I…I…" he stammered, at a loss for what he could possibly say to save himself. His eyes rounded on Rosalie, who stood quietly between Dembe and Horace.

"You!" he snarled, pulling at the pipes uselessly. "You wait until everyone hears what you've done, falling into bed with this snake!" he spat, "You'll never sign another client again!"

Red turned to look at his business partner, his eyes conveying that the man would never have the opportunity to make good on his threat.

Rosalie flashed a sweet little smile at Raymond before stepping out from the safety of their guards, her eyes narrowing darkly at her former client.

"Oh, Altan, I don't think you'll be saying much of anything to anyone. Knowing my friend here, I can trust you won't leave this warehouse alive."

The man gulped visibly, his nerves beginning to show as Reddington tilted his head and smiled at the innkeeper.

Rosalie swaggered across the room, coming level with Raymond's side and placing her arm on the man's shoulder. "You see, you didn't just attack Raymond Reddington, you attacked me by association. That's reason enough for me to terminate your contract."

Horace and Dembe smiled knowingly at the pair, seeing their prior disagreement dissolve before their eyes.

"And I didn't fall into bed with him," Rosalie added, her voice positively lethal as she turned to glare at Altan, "I made the bed and beckoned him to it."

Raymond wrapped a possessive arm around the woman's hips, allowing a confident smirk to grace his features as Altan's mouth hung open in shock.

The Glass Flat - Munich, Germany

Having left Brimley to work on Altan, Raymond and Rosalie headed back to the comfort of the safehouse with Dembe and Horace. Baz had remained as security for Kate and Brimley.

The two criminals were exhausted. The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon as they filed into the safehouse, intent on getting some sleep.

Raymond had just settled into his room when a soft tap issued from the door.

Rosalie stood in her cashmere sweater and dark jeans, silently asking permission to enter.

Red's soft smile beckoned her into the room.

She padded up to his side of the bed, holding out the little black book from earlier.

"Rosalie, I told you, I don't need to see the list." he insisted, refusing to take the item.

"I want you to." she said softly, pushing it back towards him. "I don't want this to happen again. Would you please look at it so we know what other problems may be lurking in the network?"

Raymond's eyes softened considerably, a warm, genuine smile gracing his features. He took the small book, then reached over and patted the space next to him just as Rosalie had done a few nights prior.

A knowing smile crossed the woman's face as she climbed onto the bed with him. Instead of threading his fingers through her hair as she always did to him, Raymond reached over and wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulders.

Rosalie was pleased and surprised as he pulled her tight to him, his warm body enveloping her. Without hesitating, she nestled her head against the man's broad chest, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips. It was terribly comfortable, being curled up with him. Rosalie found her eyes getting heavy as she listened to Raymond's deep, soothing drawl.

He flipped through the list, commenting on the various clients, good, bad, or surprising, and made marks next to the ones that could be issues. He had found three when a throaty chuckle escaped his lips.

"Now, how on earth did you manage to get the head of the Sinaloa cartel into your shenanigans?"

Rosalie giggled tiredly, "Oh he's an old favourite, calls me his little flamingo."

"Hold on, that sounds like a story I need to hear." he purred playfully, setting the book on the nightstand, all but forgotten.

Rosalie's small hand came to rest on Red's chest, playing idly with a button on his crisp white shirt. "I'll tell you when I'm not half asleep." she yawned, "It's a good one, I want to do it justice."

Another deep rumble of amusement vibrated against her skin as Raymond settled deeper into the pillows, adjusting his grip on the young innkeeper.

"I'll hold you to that." he murmured, his thumb caressing her hip tenderly.

"As long as you hold me." the sleepy woman mumbled teasingly as she burrowed deeper into his side.

The statement and the woman's nuzzling stoked something primal in Raymond, the desire to shelter her little body with his became overwhelming as he cuddled her close.

Dembe walked past Raymond's room some time later to see the door ajar. He could hear the soft sounds of the man's breathing and was not surprised to see him sleeping slouched against the pillows. What was surprising was the presence of a certain young innkeeper. Red had his arm wrapped protectively around Rosalie's feminine frame, his large hand palming her hip possessively. The woman's head was nestled against his chest, her own arm wrapped tightly about the man's torso.

The sight brought a knowing smile to the bodyguard's face. His hunch had been correct. There was more to their friendship than the two realized. Dembe carefully and silently closed the door, giving them their privacy before tiptoeing to his room.

Within the confines of the cool, dark bedroom, Raymond and Rosalie continued to doze peacefully in the warmth of each other's arms.


	10. Should & Shouldn't

_The Glass Flat Safehouse - Munich, Germany - November 1998_

Raymond woke to sleet pelting the windows of the dark bedroom. The curtains were drawn, but he could tell by the gaps in their folds that it was already dark outside.

It took a great deal of trust to sleep alongside someone, to allow them into one's sphere when it was so completely unguarded. It was the kind of vulnerability Raymond tried to avoid as a general principle. And yet, here he was, having slept for hours ensconced in the arms of his business partner.

Glancing surreptitiously down at his chest, Red found the woman still fast asleep. He had turned at some point, one arm wrapping around the small of her back, the other cradling her head to his chest.

Rosalie didn't seem to mind the proximity. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Red's torso, her small hands pressed into his back, keeping him close. A slender leg had draped over his, wedging his muscular thigh between hers. The woman's breath fell softly against his neck, the gentle sound nearly lulling him back under.

Truthfully, Raymond rather enjoyed how tightly she was wrapped around him. It had been too long since the man had a woman in his bed for anything beyond the occasional dalliance. Far too long. He had forgotten how it could feel, being held and caressed by gentle hands. It touched a raw corner of his soul, awakening something vital, something he'd been missing.

Suddenly, holding the woman in such a way felt terribly intimate.

What had come over him? Why was he cuddling her so close?

More importantly, why did she stay? Why was she clutching him just as tightly?

Red's mind trekked back several hours to when Rosalie had given him her client list. Her eyes had been so soft, so trusting as she held out the little black book.

Reddington hadn't wanted her token of good faith to change anything, yet it had. The gesture had told Raymond everything, had laid Rosalie's character bare before him. With one fell swoop, she had garnered his hard-won trust and unyielding loyalty. After the unmitigated mess with Patrick's death and their ensuing argument, all Red had wanted to do in that moment was take her in his arms.

A rush of nerves made him tighten his hold on the little waist without warning, accidentally waking the woman.

Rosalie sighed and stretched languidly in his embrace. Her small hands moving slowly up and down the expanse of Red's back, drawing gentle circles that made the man hum. He relaxed into the soothing touch, knowing she couldn't feel the burn scars beneath his layers of clothing.

Rosalie's lips twitched as her eyes flickered open, taking in her surroundings. "What time is it?"

Reddington lifted his arm, squinting at his watch in the low light. "6:30" he rumbled, his hand dropping to run featherlight along the woman's torso. He watched avidly as his fingertips traced the curves of her waist and hips, eliciting a soft mew from his counterpart. Her hands hadn't stopped stroking his back. Emboldened by his touch, they moved to roam his shoulders as well.

Raymond found himself enjoying the innocent petting session immensely. _This_was what he had been missing.

Rosalie seemed to be of the same mind, her body erupting in goosebumps as Raymond's fingertips skimmed a teasing trail along her ribcage. She hadn't realized how much she had missed the comfort of a man until he had drawn her into his embrace. Now, in the dark, the man's scent and gentle caress combined to envelope her in an overwhelming feeling of contentment.

All too soon, a quiet knock interrupted the sanctity of their comfortable cocoon.

"Maybe if we don't answer, he'll go away." Red's sleep-addled drawl ghosted across Rosalie's neck, coaxing a muffled giggle from the warm bundle in his arms. His hand continued stroking her torso as the knock sounded again.

"This is Dembe we're talking about," Rosalie whispered, "He sees right through our ploys."

"We could play dead?" Raymond suggested, looking for any excuse to prolong the moment when they would have to return to reality.

"What terrible suggestions, Raymond. Are you sure you run a criminal empire?" She chided, garnering a deep chuckle from him.

The knock sounded again, more insistently. The pair's eyes met with a kind of anxious disappointment.

"...We could hide in the secret compartment in the closet?" Rosalie offered quietly, a last ditch effort to postpone the inevitable.

However, seconds later, the bedroom door opened, casting a yellow ray of light onto the bed. A smooth voice issued from the gap in the door.

"Raymond, it's Brimley."

A sigh escaped Red's mouth as he released his hold on the woman. Leaving the comfort of the bed, he strode over to Dembe and took the burner phone.

" , I take it our friend is ready?"

Ted's foghorn voice caused Raymond to hold the phone at arms length as he responded. "The blowtorch ran out of gas, but not before he broke! I know where his grandmother hides her money, Boss, but he's got no idea who hired him. Completely anonymous transaction!"

A growl issued from Raymond's chest as he ran a hand over his face. His fears were all but confirmed. Such an anonymous transaction was an indicator of a much larger attack on his operation. He would have to squeeze all available information from Altan and attempt to get one step ahead of his attacker.

Red looked at the young woman occupying his bed. She rested on her elbows, listening intently to Brimley's booming voice as it echoed into the room. A frown marred her features as her mind worked through the new intel.

"Thank you Mr. Brimley, we will be there shortly."

Reddington closed the phone, handing it back to Dembe and instructing him to have the car brought around.

The young man nodded, leaving the pair in the quiet room. Their quiet sanctum was broken, however. The man and woman looked ruefully at each other, an unspoken agreement forming between them.

They wouldn't discuss what had happened in Raymond's bed.

Both had needed comfort and sought it in each other. That was all. Discussing the matter would only lead to the question of what was brewing between them. Because they both knew there was something there now, something that hadn't existed hours earlier. Or at least, they hadn't believed it existed.

Red broke the silence, steering the conversation toward safe waters. "I want you carrying a weapon from now on." He stated, holding out a hand. Rosalie took it and slid gracefully from the bed, "You should have been carrying one from the beginning. Not just those little blades." A half-smile flitted across his features. He was teasing her, trying to lighten the mood.

Rosalie laughed softly, "Those were quite effective if I recall."

"Yes," Raymond admitted, "Only in close range, though. I'd prefer you be able to protect yourself from a safe distance." His thumb traced the back of her hand gently as he spoke, "I can provide you with a gun and ammo if you don't have one."

Rosalie smirked and headed for the master closet. Pulling a hidden key from the door frame, she proceeded to open the back wall. A hidden space similar to the one in New York opened to her, and she hopped to perch herself on the compartment's edge.

An identical smirk graced Red's face as he followed her into the room. He stood eye level with her as she shifted through the hidden trove of paraphernalia.

Finally, she located a large black tactical box, which she tugged to the opening's edge. Flipping the catch, Rosalie swung the lid open to reveal an assortment of firearms and ammo.

Red chuckled, "You've had these all this time and haven't been carrying? What happened to the one in São Paulo?"

She shrugged, "I was on the run. Once I wasn't running from this Concierge of Crime fellow, I didn't feel it was necessary to have it on me."

"You are a criminal; you are _always_on the run. It is _always__ necessary_. I don't want you leaving the house without one from now on. Understood?" Raymond's tone brooked no argument.

The young woman nodded, a small smile twitching at her lips for his concern.

Red pulled a Browning Hi-Power from the bunch, recognizing his preferred weapon of choice. He quirked an eyebrow at Rosalie who grinned impishly. "Always be prepared for a client's needs." she reasoned.

"Isn't that the Boy Scout motto?" He joked, earning a giggle from his counterpart. Red also pulled a Colt .45 1911 from the group, some spare clips for each gun, and a couple boxes of ammo. He closed the case with a snap, allowing Rosalie to tuck it back in its hiding spot.

As she turned to climb out of the space, Raymond wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her bodily from the compartment. A stifled squeak of surprise issued from the little woman as he settled her on her feet. She blushed slightly at the renewed proximity before Red's hand met the small of her back, gently shooing her out of the closet.

Divesting the guns, ammo, and clips onto the bed, he organized them by firearm.

"Browning, Hi-Power, 9mm single action. Powerful, reliable, and accurate. 9mm is one of the most common ammos available, making it easy to keep loaded on the go. This is going to be your day-to-day weapon." He explained, loading the clip and handing the firearm to her so she could feel its weight. He filled two more clips for the Browning before picking up the Colt. "Colt .45 1911, single action, has a bit more kick to it. Keep this as a mean back-up. I've loaded copper hollow points for this, they're meant for heavy damage." He loaded the second gun and handed it to the woman, allowing her to get more acquainted with both.

"How comfortable are you firing?" He asked, watching her examine the firearms.

Rosalie tilted her head back and forth, "Reasonably comfortable, but there's always room for improvement." She held the Browning up, feeling the weight in the shooting position.

Red smiled softly, "I'll take you out in the next day or two and we'll work on your technique."

Rosalie beamed appreciatively, "I'll need to get a couple holsters for these."

A thought came to Raymond and he turned to grab one of his bags.

The suitcase was an old-fashioned globe-trotter, its leather showing the wear and tear of age and use. The brass finishes still shone brightly against the black leather as Red spun the combination locks until the clasps sprung open with a snap. The interior was a soft cream color with dark black straps.

Old and new photos were tucked carefully in the lid. A photo of a slightly younger Dembe in a graduation cap beamed up at her. It was tucked alongside a picture of Red and Kate on a sun-drenched balcony, as well as another with Dembe in a bakery, a sweet looking old lady in an apron between him and Raymond. Older photos contained a young woman with red hair, and a separate photo of the same woman, then blonde, in a swing with a little girl.

Rosalie wondered who they were. Did Red once have a child, a wife? The woman's insides squirmed at the thought. She couldn't really reconcile the Concierge of Crime with the very domestic life she imagined involving the woman and the little girl. Realizing she was staring, Rosalie turned her head before she could be caught.

From the confines of the suitcase, Red pulled out a series of dark leather straps. Closing the luggage and setting it aside, he held up the chestnut colored straps for her to examine.

"These holsters," he commented, "are easy to hide on a woman." He shifted the straps so Rosalie could see it was meant to criss-cross over her shoulders. The holster was Raymond's, but he had long since developed a preference for the one he kept at the small of his back. The shoulder harness was perfect for Rosalie, who often wore skirts and dresses as well as slacks. It would give her the ability to carry no matter what she wore.

Raymond wrapped his arms around her, guiding each hand through the straps as he continued explaining. "Your waist dips in from your bust while your hips curve outward, creating a natural hollow. That hollow is ideal for hiding guns and ammo."

Rosalie shrugged the item on, listening intently. Red stopped, eyeing the fit critically, smirking because he hadn't realized how much broader he was than her. The holsters which were supposed to be up by her waist were dangling near the woman's pelvis.

The man's fingertips skirted her shoulder blades as he reached behind her, adjusting the straps. Rosalie leaned into him, giving him better access. When the last strap was settled into place with a soft _click,_Raymond reluctantly moved so she could see the result.

Rosalie let out a surprised gasp as she looked in the large mirror at the foot of the bed. The holster was tucked perfectly in the dip of her waist on her left side. The right side sat parallel to it, holding holsters for two clips.

A ghost of a grin appeared on Raymond's face. The holster looked better on her than it ever had on him. He picked up the Browning, reloaded the clip and tucked it into the holster for her, his knuckles just grazing her ribcage. The pair loaded the two spare clips, inserting them into their appropriate slots.

Rosalie felt the weight added to her frame but it wasn't uncomfortable. They then loaded the Colt; Red attempted to secure it to her ankle, but upon further inspection, found an ankle strap holding one of her razor sharp knives already there. He had looked up at her chuckling at the discovery, and conceded to the thigh holster she owned for now. They would find her a more discrete option shortly.

Looking like a little rebel fighter, Rosalie reached on her tiptoes to kiss Raymond's cheek. "Thank you" she said softly, her eyes meeting his for a moment before heading to change her clothes.

As he watched the little woman flounce out of the bedroom, Raymond made a mental note to get her a jacket like his. It would make carrying that much fire power infinitely easier.

And he was convinced she would look adorable in it.

The man brought a hand to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a chuckle and an exasperated sigh. Nothing could come of him and Rosalie, he knew that, but it was a terribly pleasant idea.

_Florian's Warehouse - Munich, Germany_

Half an hour later, the group headed into the warehouse where the rest of the team and their captive were waiting. Red sent Kate's group back to their safehouse with Otto, leaving Raymond, Dembe, Horace, and Rosalie with Altan.

Red wasted no time in grilling Altan for every detail of the person who had hired him. Altan provided dates, transactions, currencies, phone numbers, anything that Reddington thought could give him an indication of who ordered the hit.

Rosalie sat perched on an abandoned desk nearby, listening to Altan's answers. She didn't understand how he could be so stupid as to pick a fight with Raymond Reddington. She hadn't even known who Red was when he came looking for her, and she had taken to ground rather than confront him. Whomever ordered the hit would have to be equally stupid or an actual threat to Raymond.

The man had just asked Horace and Dembe to bring the car around when chaos rained down on the warehouse. The guards had been gone two minutes, when Red had stood up to speak with Rosalie. A shot ricocheted off the wall six inches from the man's head.

"Get down!" Red bellowed, taking cover behind a massive filing cabinet.

Rosalie flipped backward, right off the edge of the desk, tucking herself safely behind its bulk. Shots poured into the warehouse at a deafening volume. Windows shattered, pipes burst, and the office furniture was torn to shreds as the projectiles ripped through them.

Rosalie looked up at Raymond, seeing the shock and confusion she felt mirrored in his eyes.

_Who the hell was shooting at them? Who knew they were here?_

One of the burst pipes was pouring thick steam out onto the filing cabinets where Raymond stood. He used the cover to make his way over to Rosalie, taking shelter behind the desk with her.

"I counted four shooters," he murmured, "one on the stairs leading to the foreman's office, one in the door leading to the back alley, and two coming through the truck bay.

Rosalie nodded her agreement, "I've got your back, you've got mine?" She asked, putting her left arm around the man's waist. Red nodded back, mirroring her grasp.

"One,"

"Two,"

"Three!"

The pair popped out from behind their hiding spot, one arm still securely wrapped around the other's middle, guns blazing.

They fired shot after shot, carefully taking out their assailants. Red dropped the shooter in the back alley entrance while Rosalie sent the man atop the stairs falling to the floor with a sickening crunch. Their shots drove the two in the truck bay back just in time for them both to be hit by Horace driving the town car. Their bodies went flying, hitting the opposite wall with identical thuds.

The bodyguards leapt from vehicle, rushing to cover their charges.

It was then that Red noticed the wet spot blooming on his shirt. He thought it odd, he didn't remember getting shot. He must have, though, as the left side of his shirt was turning bright red. He looked confusedly at the spot before realizing that was not _his_blood.

Rosalie stood looking just as surprised as he was. A stray bullet had snuck between their sides, singing a tear in Raymond shirt and nicking Rosalie's hip in the process.

"Oh," she whispered, still surprised. She glanced at Raymond, suddenly a little light-headed. "Well, that can't be good…"

Reddington scooped her up in his arms, shouting at their guards to take them to Mr. Kaplan. The men jumped into the front of the vehicle, revving the engine and speeding off into the night. Horace tore through the streets of Munich to the other safehouse, all the while listening to Rosalie's insistence that _'It's only a flesh wound,'_and, _'Honestly Horace, I don't pay the Munich police enough to ignore your blatant speeding, slow down!'_

A long ten minutes later, they finally made it to the safehouse, where Horace took the bleeding woman from Raymond and hurtled inside.

_The Bluebell Villa - Madrid, Spain - December 1998_

It had been three weeks since the altercation at Florian's warehouse in Munich. Altan had been killed in the siege, whether on purpose or by accident remained to be seen.

None of the shooters lived to be of any use. No names, no identifying information could be found. Much to Red's fury, the bodies had also disappeared once they arrived at the city morgue in Munich. Someone had come to collect them, ensuring he could not garner any information from the corpses.

The trail for who ordered the hit on Patrick had gone stone cold. Reddington had advised his people to continue operations but to lie low. The search continued for the mystery assailant, but without any actionable information, they were hunting in the dark.

The bullet which had grazed Rosalie left a two-inch tear in the woman's hip. Kate had agreed it was merely a flesh wound. However, that had not stopped the men, Florian in particular, from getting bent out of shape about it.

Rosalie had insisted on carrying on the same as always, not taking a moment to recoup. Her refusal to take five minutes to recover was culminating that night in a charity event she was attending in Florian's stead. She had just changed the bandages on her hip and donned her gown for the evening when she made her way to the villa's first floor.

A pair of hazel eyes watched her has she descended the stairs. "Rosalie, you look even more ravishing than usual." Raymond purred, eyeing the cut of her gown.

It was obviously a custom piece, made specifically for the purpose of hugging the woman's curves, which Red believed it accomplished spectacularly. The dress had a sweetheart neckline which cupped the swell of her breasts tantalizingly, making the man's pulse race. The fabric was a turbulent grey mixed with midnight blue, the exact colour of a stormy night. It was very becoming on her, making those mischievous grey eyes sparkle an almost oceanic blue. An intricate silver chain completed the look, draped daintily around her neck and holding a startling white fire opal.

"I'm stuck attending Marcelo's shindig in Florian's place." She grumbled, "I'm not even allowed a plus one."

Reddington beamed at her. "You know Marcelo? I was under the impression he only preferred men."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, "Know this from personal experience, Raymond? And here I've been thinking you were the epitome of the alpha male."

The man chuckled at the barb, shaking his head as she left with her guards.

The moment he heard their car start, Raymond made a beeline for the burner phone.

Dembe's eyes looked stonily at him over his teacup, already knowing what the man was up to.

"Marcelo! How are the Pomeranians?" Red chimed jovially upon the man answering.

"Oh I'm sure they look darling…You know, I'm in town at the moment and thought I would see if you are available for dinner and a little shop talk..."

Dembe sighed exasperatedly at Raymond who pursed his lips and waved him off.

"A party you say?..."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to impose..."

"Are you sure?..."

"You are an absolute dear, Marcelo. I'll see you in 20."

Red snapped the phone shut and looked peevishly at Dembe. "Don't give me that look, you'll still have the night off. I just need a ride to Marcelo's first."

The young man rose stoically, his expression one of distinct disgruntlement.

"Party pooper" Raymond groused, heading to pull his tux from the closet.

It had been a few weeks since Red and Rosalie had one of their late night excursions, and the man found he was missing them dearly. A night out at Marcelo's would be just the ticket, and once he found out the location, he couldn't resist. Imagining the deep amusement that would flood Rosalie's face upon his arrival gave the man an extra bounce in his step as he readied for the evening.

Twenty minutes later, Dembe pulled the town car into the drive of a magnificent villa on the opposite hill from the safehouse. Marcelo greeted Raymond warmly, the host's flamboyant suit clashing spectacularly with Red's neat tux. The men promised to meet up and talk business later that night, a promise which Raymond fully expected the man to conveniently forget.

There was a spectacular band at the far end of the room playing 50's era crooners and big band swing. The expansive ballroom held a balcony aloft at each end, dotted with small tables for socializing guests.

The Concierge of Crime scanned the room carefully, looking for his target. He located her after a few minutes, finding her dancing with a well-known arms dealer from Nicaragua. She was nodding stiffly to whatever the man was saying, eyebrows slightly furrowed in annoyance.

Considering that his cue, Raymond moved expertly to cut in on Rosalie's dance card. Her eyes shone with stifled amusement as her previous partner skulked off to the bar.

"Oh dear, I see they've gone and let the riff-raff in."

"They certainly did, I'm here to liven things up."

"Thank God," she sighed exasperatedly, "It's been incredibly dull without you."

He found himself hoping she meant it.

Rosalie leaned in conspiratorially, "So I take it Marcelo was amicable to your being my plus one?"

"Nonsense, I'm gate crashing." Red intoned, spinning her out of the reach of a young man looking to cut in.

A tinkling laugh escaped Rosalie's mouth at the man's antics, her eyes shining fondly at her cohort. "Well, however you got here, thank you for saving me from the handsy Nicaraguan and," she jerked her head towards the opposite end of the dance floor, "whoever that was."

"I would have gladly escorted you for the night." Red mentioned off-handedly.

Rosalie glanced up at him, surprised. "I didn't think you would want to come." she said earnestly.

"I'm always up for a party," he smiled playfully, "A sensational woman on my arm sweetens the pot." The man added, making her giggle as he dipped her expertly.

"Good, you can be my date from now on. Make these things less tedious." her tone was casual, but she felt her tummy flip at her own brashness. She didn't doubt she would be much happier having Raymond with her at these sorts of events. He was endlessly entertaining, carried himself well, and made her feel feminine, desirable even.

"I accept. However, I can't help but notice I don't see your firearm, young lady." He chided teasingly. Ever since their talk in Munich, the woman had carried a gun. This evening was the first night Raymond had seen her without it.

"You didn't see it when we first met, either." She countered, her eyes glinting mischievously.

"Oh?" he crooned, recalling the events of that day quite clearly. "I do recall you mentioning one, but I never saw it. You could have been lying for all I know."

A laugh erupted from the little woman, "Ah, the feminine mystique strikes again. Who knows, you might catch a glimpse of it later."

The woman had been completely joking, but the reaction she garnered from her counterpart was quite real. Red's eyes had turned impossibly dark, heatedly examining her features. She felt a shiver skirt down her spine as his arm tightened about her waist, spinning them again.

Florian had arrived a little late to the party, seeking out his young protégé with a weary smile. He had lied, telling her the weather was too poor for him to come, hoping to surprise the little woman. As his bright eyes scanned the ballroom, he fell on a vision in midnight blue lace. The dress was a favourite of hers. The blue gown was like a sea in a storm, bringing out the best in Rosalie's eyes.

Though he was not surprised to find her on the dance floor, the man _was_surprised to find her in the arms of none other than Raymond Reddington. Raymond was holding the woman close, tenderly even as they swayed to the music. Florian could see Reddington's mouth moving against the shell of her ear, and as they turned on the dance floor, he saw Rosalie lean her head into his, beaming and laughing merrily at what he had said.

She looked… incandescent. In truth, Florian had never seen the young woman glow the way she did now.

He had been curious to see how their partnership would turn out. He found himself surprised at the result. The pair were thick as thieves, alternating between talking animatedly and whispering languidly in each other's ears. Florian watched them for a long while, enjoying the sight of Rosalie so happy.

This thought darkened, however, as he remembered the incident in Munich a few short weeks ago. His adopted daughter had been shot. Though it was merely a flesh wound, the thought notion Florian back to his initial discussion with Reddington. He was entrusting the man with someone very precious to him, and she had been shot.

The older man was determined to speak with him. He made his way across the dance floor, earning a surprised squeal of delight from the young woman in Red's grasp. He kissed the girl, deploring how beautiful she looked in rapid French before coaxing her into getting a drink while he discussed business with Raymond.

The pair stepped up to a secluded table on one of the balconies, giving them a good view of the ballroom below.

"Florian," Reddington began, knowing what this was about, but the older man cut him off.

"She was shot." Florian rumbled, his discontent being made known. "My daughter was shot, while dealing with an issue in _your_organization."

"Yes," said Raymond, knowing there was no use in arguing the truth. "However, the attack was thoroughly neutralized. My people are hunting down the responsible party as we speak."

This news did little to settle Florian's nerves.

The men watched as the woman in question sat relaxing in her seat, knees crossed and foot bouncing along to the music.

A man sidled up to Rosalie, taking the seat next to her and leaning entirely too close for either man's liking. The young buck was talking animatedly to her, and Raymond was secretly happy to see her looking completely disinterested.

She caught both men staring at her and raised an imperious eyebrow in their direction, noting the matching scowls. Both Raymond and Florian inclined their heads at the man, who had just lifted his hand.

Determined to have Rosalie's undivided attention, he placed said hand on her thigh. This was the wrong move. Raymond let out an audible growl which caused Florian to smirk knowingly at him. "She will be fine." He rumbled in his deep French lilt, already aware of what would happen next.

Rosalie's eyes flitted to the man's hand for a millisecond before reaching for her teacup. With an elegant flick of her wrist, she dumped half of the scalding liquid onto the offending appendage.

A yelp rang throughout the room as the man wrenched it back, waving it back and forth. Red had to stop himself from laughing out loud at the exchange as Rosalie remained seated, perfectly unphased by the man's howling.

Mischievous grey eyes met Red's twinkling hazels and winked as the little woman took a long, exaggerated sip.

Florian watched the pair carefully. Rosalie's eyes were for Raymond alone. Something had occurred between them, the man was certain of it.

"She cares for you." He said softly, eyes locking with Raymond's.

"Hmm?" asked Raymond, surprised at the turn the conversation had taken.

"She cares for you." Florian repeated, eyeing the man carefully. "Perhaps too much."

Red's expression darkened at this statement.

Florian's icy blue eyes looked out over the crowd, softening slightly when he looked at Rosalie.

"I want better for her." The man stated vehemently. "I wouldn't let her date any man in the Corsican gang because I wanted better for her. She deserves a life in which she won't be shot at. Where she will be safe."

The man turned to look at Raymond again, "Can you tell me she could ever have that with you?"

The Concierge of Crime stood staring gobsmacked at Florian. How could he possibly know what had transpired between Red and Rosalie three weeks ago?

The question apparently showed in his expression.

"It's quite obvious to anyone who bothers to look." the man intoned, pushing off of the balcony's railing. "I want more for her Raymond, and if you care one iota for her, so should you."

The man walked away without another word.

The rest of the evening went along smoothly as far as Rosalie was concerned. She noticed a little frigidity between Florian and Raymond, but assumed it had to do with whatever business they were discussing.

She danced a few dances with Florian before passing him off to Marcelo's maiden aunt so she could find her business partner.

She found him at their table, quietly contemplating his scotch. As Rosalie took a seat next to him, he brought up a topic for discussion. Something of which Red was terribly curious.

"Why did you let me hold you?" he asked quietly, the thought had been plaguing him since that day.

"Because I wanted you to." Rosalie said offhandedly.

"To solidify our earlier discussion about trust?" He asked pointedly, for some reason the notion bothered him and wouldn't leave his mind until he heard the truth from her.

"No." She said immediately, scowling at the very idea. "I wouldn't try to sway you with my feminine wiles, Raymond. I'm a bit cleverer than that and nowhere near as cruel."

Red found himself pleased with her response, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Rosalie noted how he relaxed after she'd said it. Did he really think she would try such a thing? She swallowed as she realized she couldn't very well tell him the truth. The woman decided to redirect the discussion at warp speed.

"Why did you let me sleep in your arms?"

"Because I wanted you to." he said, cocking his head and grinning impishly at her. The expression brought a reluctant smile to her lips.

"You could have kicked me out." She pointed out, suddenly curious.

"That would have been rude."

"You could have gone to the other side of the bed." She reasoned.

"That's not my side." He grumbled, the notion of sleeping on the left hand side somehow offensive.

Her questioning had effectively directed him away from her own reasoning, but now Rosalie was terribly curious as to why _he_had allowed the affection.

"Ok, you could have pushed _me_toward the other side."

"That would have been significantly less comfortable." He chuckled, taking another sip of his scotch. She was avoiding his question.

"Raymond, why did you hold me?"

"Rosalie, why did you let me?"

"Because I liked it." She admitted, her face flushing an even deeper scarlet. "You were warm and comfortable and…" Rosalie's mind wandered back to the dark, secluded comfort of Raymond's bedroom. The scent of the man held her there, paralyzed by a sense of comfort and belonging.

She didn't _let_him hold her, she practically crawled under his skin, she had so deeply desired to be close to him. How could she explain that without it being weird?

"And?" Red interjected, intrigued to know where the woman's mind had run off to.

"And…I missed that." she finished lamely, at a loss for what could save her. Rosalie's voice diminished slightly, her nerves getting the better of her. "I hadn't realized, how much I missed…" she couldn't bring herself to finish.

"I held you because I needed to." admitted Raymond quietly, "I'd forgotten, how comforting it can be. I didn't realize how much I missed it too."

They stared at one another, not sure what they should say now. Rosalie suddenly wanted to go home. The party wasn't much fun anymore.

Raymond read her mind, silently summoning their guard to take them back to the safehouse.

Teddy Beaumont, one of Rosalie's men, had become their ipso facto night guard. The man was of a better disposition than Otto Henschke, and was happy to accompany Raymond and Rosalie on their late night shenanigans. Most importantly, the man knew to keep a respectful distance, allowing the pair to enjoy their time away from their respective businesses in relative solitude.

Tonight, however, Red would have given anything for the man to have talked more, filling some of the deafening silence that was the car ride home.

When they finally reached the villa, the pair left Ted to sort out the car. The house was dark as they entered, making their way up the stairs toward the bedrooms.

Raymond and Rosalie headed somewhat reluctantly towards their own rooms, their footsteps echoing to opposite corners of the hallway. As Rosalie's hand met the handle to her bedroom, she turned to glance at Red's retreating form.

Instead, their eyes met as he stood in the same position, hand on his own door, looking meaningfully at her. Seconds seemed to stretch into days as the two stood in the hall, unable to break eye contact. Red's hazel eyes were boring into Rosalie's, making the woman's pulse race even from a distance.

The desire to close the space between them again was only kept in check by an oppressive sense of foreboding.

They shouldn't. They knew that.

Without needing to ask each other, both seemed to know there were emotions beyond an innocent friendship brewing between them.

It also went without asking that it would be a terrible idea for them to act on those emotions. A romantic relationship would leave them vulnerable. It would create a weakness that could end them both.

Rosalie knew full well she didn't want to be the downfall of Raymond Reddington. To hell with her own empire, she knew the man well enough to know he was readying for something much bigger than what she was facing. Rosalie could liquidate her own criminal pursuits and have more than enough to provide for her mother and herself. She continued because she felt this world was where she belonged and because she wanted to be absolutely certain no one could touch her family. Raymond was in it for entirely different reasons.

The woman sighed morosely, trying to convey with her shimmering grey eyes as she opened the door to her room, she would much rather be sleeping in his arms. She stepped into the space and closed the door before she could do something they would both regret.

Raymond had watched the little innkeeper as she walked toward her room and was pleased beyond recognition when she turned to gaze back at him. He had felt it all night, a shift in their dynamic.

Something had changed between them.

Red could have sworn the woman now sensed he wanted more from her, and that she wanted more from him in turn.

She crossed the threshold into her room with a look that told Raymond he had not imagined these feelings. Rosalie felt it too. There was a flicker of attraction, a sensation of belonging between them that made the air hum with electricity.

Red had openly flirted with the Rosalie from the beginning of their acquaintance, not once thinking anything about it. Their business relationship had been enough. They hadn't been working together that long, but Raymond couldn't imagine moving throughout the world without her now.

He had never really sought a romantic companion after becoming Raymond Reddington. He had engaged in the occasional dalliance, of course. He was only a man, after all, and one with a rather voracious libido, come to that. But in the end, he had always believed he was meant to live Reddington's life alone. His purpose was to protect Lizzie and ensure she would have a normal life. Only his freedom and her safety mattered.

However, having Rosalie with him every day was somewhat altering the man's philosophy. He readily admitted his life was more enjoyable with a warm, affectionate woman in the picture. In truth, he positively adored her. Red liked to think she felt the same. She went out of her way to see to his happiness, to bring warmth and comfort to his life, something that he had never encountered from a woman before.

The women Red had dealt with, the criminals especially, be it sex, money, or connections, had all wanted something from him. Even Katarina had ultimately wanted something from him. Rosalie was different in many ways, but none more so than how she treated him. She was warm, kind, and endlessly selfless where Red was concerned.

Raymond rarely, if ever, denied himself anything. So why was he denying himself her? Without stopping to consider the consequences, Red whipped the master bedroom door open and strode swiftly down the hall.

He tapped on Rosalie's door softly, trying not to wake Horace or Dembe. A soft shuffling noise could be heard before the door opened.

Rosalie stood in a silk pyjama set in a deep peacock blue, a white floral kimono draped across her shoulders to ward off the night's chill.

Reddington reached a hand out to grasp Rosalie's waist, the other rising up to cup her cheek. The motion was intimate and sensual, making the young woman shiver in expectation. The man's lips had just barely skirted hers when they were interrupted.

Dembe's calm voice echoed into the hallway, "Raymond, there is a phone call for you."

Raymond sighed in irritation, resting his forehead against Rosalie's. She gave him a sympathetic smile and reached up to stroke his cheek.

"It's probably for the best." she whispered regretfully, taking a step back into her room. The woman needed to get her bearings. Falling for Raymond Reddington was a terrible idea for various reasons; not a single one of which she could think of at that particular moment.

Raymond knew she was right, of course. It was for the best. A moment's weakness would have had them crossing a line they couldn't uncross. There was too much at stake for him to pursue her, though he now realized, he dearly wanted to. It didn't help that Florian's earlier words were still echoing in his head.

Red leaned back to look around the door. Dembe was standing at the other end of the hall, waiting for him. "Damn." The man whispered, giving Rosalie one last mournful look before striding to his office.

_Five minutes earlier - Rosalie's room_

"_So?_" a smug voice echoed from the corner of the bedroom as Rosalie shut the door.

The sound startled Rosalie so badly that she instantaneously lobbed one of her heels at the corner of her room.

Horace caught the projectile with ease. "Merde, woman how do you walk in these?" He asked, squinting at the shoe with a look of utter bafflement.

"Horace!" She hissed, clutching her chest, "Why are you skulking in the corner of my room?"

Horace chuckled at her terrorized expression. "I'm not skulking, I've been waiting to see how your little outing with Reddington went." He teased, tossing the woman's projectile back at her.

Rosalie deftly snagged the heel by one of its straps, scowling at her guard. "Nothing happened. Go play gossip girl with the rest of the boys." She was in a sour mood, and opted to go change rather than deal with her nosy head of security.

"We all know Otto was likely too busy chasing tail to pay much attention to you two, and Teddy is too much of a loyal sod to tattle."

Rosalie stepped back out of the closet, already out of her gown and into her pyjamas. Her expression was rather dour, making Horace cease his teasing.

"What happened?" He asked, a note of concern tingeing his voice. Spending time with Reddington usually left Rosalie in a good humour, but tonight there was something decidedly off-kilter.

Rosalie had just opened her mouth when a soft tap issued from the door. The young woman's brow furrowed at the sound. She hesitated a moment before padding over to the door and swinging it open.

Rosalie's bodyguard peeked around the armoire he was hidden behind. His mouth fell open at the sight of Reddington pulling the woman tightly to him, their lips just barely grazing each other's before Dembe's voice could be heard. Horace winced, listening to the exchange between Raymond and Rosalie before the Concierge of Crime left to take the call.

The woman closed the door to the sound of Raymond's retreating form, the quiet of her bedroom suddenly oppressively loud. She pressed her back into the door, willing the feelings of bitter disappointment to abate. Instead of subsiding, the feelings worsened, making Rosalie's eyes burn with tears as she slid to the floor.

Horace was at her side immediately, pulling the small form into his arms. Rosalie's shoulders shook as she leaned into her guard's embrace. The man's brow furrowed as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. It was a rare occurrence for his charge to fall apart like this. Horace stroked her arms gently, allowing her to muffle her sobs with his shoulder.

The woman was coming to terms with the fact that somewhere in the past few months she had started falling for Raymond Reddington. She also had to reconcile with the absolute truth that nothing could ever come of it.

Both she and Reddington had painstakingly built their empires, and for reasons greater than themselves. They had sacrificed so much already, but neither of them could afford to lose their footing now.

"Can I ask?" Horace questioned, understanding the woman's turmoil.

"He knows. I know. Something has changed. We both can feel it, but we can't do anything about it." She murmured sadly.

"We just can't."


	11. An Impromptu Vacation

_December 1998_

Rosalie left with her guards the night after Marcelo's charity event. She would be spending half of the end of year holidays with her mother and the remaining half with Florian and Marietta in Marseille. The break came at a good time, giving Raymond and Rosalie the space to sort out their conflicting emotions. Or so they thought.

When Christmas morning came around, Red and Dembe woke to a stack of gifts each under the tree at the safehouse in London. The men had smiled and laughed, the house a bit more cheerful. Rosalie had done the requisite books the pair enjoyed so much, but she had also given a few more personal items.

Dembe received a large box of lemon kolaches, a beautiful new prayer rug which was both lightweight and easy to pack, and a new pair of his favourite boots. The quiet bodyguard had grinned broadly upon opening each gift and guarded his baked goods most jealously.

He needn't have bothered, as Raymond received an identical box bursting with blackberry pastries. He also received a couple of rare records and three very soft cashmere sweaters. Red roared with laughter upon opening each box. He had forgotten admiring Rosalie's sweater their last time in London. She had remembered though, and came through in spades. Red now had three of the incredibly soft sweaters. One in oxblood, one in a deepest midnight blue, and one in a light dove grey.

Rosalie had her own stack of presents from the boys, Horace having been recruited to sneak them into the house unnoticed. The young woman awoke Christmas morning with the secret stash perched on the foot of her bed.

Dembe had gotten her a book on Mandarin, having promised to teach her in the coming year. He also gave her a new leather overnight bag which was bursting at the seams with fun-patterned socks and scarves.

Raymond had made good on his plans from their altercation with Altan. A smartly wrapped box held a small of the back holster for her Colt .45, in a leather which matched her shoulder holster perfectly. Another box held a beautiful silk kimono in a periwinkle blue. The woman cooed over the beautiful fabric, recognizing the ivory flowers decorating the garment as Spanish bluebells.

When Rosalie opened the largest box, she gasped as she pulled out a beautiful brown leather jacket. The leather was very lightweight and of course, fit like a glove. Rosalie beamed at her reflection as she moved this way and that in the mirror of her room, admiring the fit. It was much like Raymond's iconic coat, just a shorter cut to suit the young woman's stature. The jacket's versatility and ample storage made it perfect for a criminal, and she had secretly envied the garment since she first saw Raymond in it.

A jarring jingle issued from one of the many pockets. Rosalie sifted through several before pulling a burner phone from the depths of the jacket's interior.

"Merry Christmas, Raymond." she grinned upon answering.

The deep, comforting chuckle she was growing terribly fond of issued from the phone. "Merry Christmas, Rosalie, I take it you've located your contraband?"

Red was standing in the office of the London safehouse, smiling at nothing as he talked to her. A tinkling laugh echoed from the phone, making the smile broaden. He could hear her shifting about, examining her reflection.

"I love it." She sighed happily, zipping the garment closed. "How did you know I envied yours?"

"I didn't." Raymond answered truthfully, pleased she was enjoying his gift. "It's practical, that colour always looks good on you."

Rosalie's cheeks turned a vibrant pink in the mirror. The jacket had a rich hue to it, the exact colour of wildflower honey, and it certainly did look good on her. However, knowing he was thinking such things brought the woman's mind back to treacherous waters.

Red could tell by the silence Rosalie was blushing. He hadn't meant it to sound quite so intimate, though he _had_ bought the jacket with the assumption she would look adorable in it.

"What about you?" She asked, diverting the conversation. "What contraband did Santa bring you and Dembe?"

Raymond let out a barking laugh, "I didn't realize Santa visited the safehouses. Imagine my surprise when there were pretty trinkets under the tree."

"They're probably filled with coal." She quipped, her nose scrunched in amusement.

"I'll have you know, Santa and I are on excellent terms." Red intoned, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek.

"Santa and Dembe, more like." The woman chirped with barely contained mirth.

"You wound me, my dear." He pouted, making her giggle openly.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to salve those wounds."

The young woman couldn't stifle the brazen thought that she would be happy to tend them for him, but she certainly couldn't say such a thing aloud.

Raymond's tone turned playful, "I'll have to drown my sorrows in Hank Mobley and blackberry kolaches. Since my usual source of comfort and general skulduggery is God knows where."

Rosalie grinned, "You're _sure_ you won't come to Marseille?" She asked again, feeling lousy for Red and Dembe being at the safehouse just the two of them.

"No, we'll leave you to Florian's, we have plans for Chinese take away and relaxing over New Year's." He laughed, "Besides, I think Florian is still quite unhappy with me. Best not to intrude upon his hospitality."

Rosalie stopped pacing her room immediately. "What on earth could he have to be upset about?"

"You were shot just a month ago, darling." Raymond reminded, his demeanour darkening at the unpleasant memory.

"That was hardly your fault." She insisted, setting about packing her new overnight bag.

A dry chuckle left Red's mouth unbidden. "In a way. It was your association with me which had you in there in the first place."

The little innkeeper's temper flared, "My association with _Florian_ got us into that warehouse. We needed a location and I knew it was available. It's my fault for not ensuring it was secure."

Raymond shook his head, "Rosalie, Florian has every right to be upset about you being shot. The issue is an outside threat. We're dealing with it, but working with me creates a certain level of risk for you neither Florian nor I are happy with."

An angry bubble burst inside the woman at his words, recognizing them as sounding more like Florian than Raymond. "What did you and Florian discuss at Marcelo's?" she asked sharply.

Red grimaced, still pacing the office. "Nothing of import." He evaded, a little unnerved at how quickly she had sensed the truth of the matter.

"Don't lie to me Raymond," Rosalie grumbled, her mood souring further. "What did Florian say to you?"

Raymond had to bite back his amusement. He secretly enjoyed her fiery little temper, and having her outraged on his behalf made the man's entire body radiate a pleasant warmth.

"He said he wants better for you than being shot at in warehouses, and if I cared one iota for you, I would too." Red recited, deciding not to keep the discussion from her.

Rosalie bristled, practically growling into the phone. "He shouldn't have said such a thing."

Raymond sighed, perching himself on the window sill. "He's right, Rosalie, and I do."

"Do what?" She snapped, tossing errant articles of clothing into her bag, completely missing his meaning.

A bold recklessness took over Red, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble. "I do care for you, Rosalie."

The woman's mouth fell open at the statement. The shock buckled her knees, dropping her onto the bench at the foot of her bed with a thump. She had not expected it. She would have been fine, really, had he not admitted it. Somehow, hearing the words soothed the ache from what transpired in Munich while simultaneously replacing it with something new that made her body tremble.

"I care for you too, Raymond. Very much." She admitted, her fingers fidgeting with one of the bench's tufted buttons.

"I can't put you in such danger." He reminded her regretfully.

"I know."

The man's voice stayed low, an impossibly comforting sound. "I would be remiss, though, if I let you think for one moment I don't want to pursue that particular avenue."

"Raymond…" she breathed, her entire being erupting in goose bumps. "We can't keep doing this."

"I know," he murmured, "I just needed to say it. Just once." Red rubbed his face gruffly, striding out of the office. "I'll let you go. Give my regards to Florian and Marietta."

"Raymond?" Rosalie called, stopping him from hanging up.

He was silent, listening patiently for her response.

"Don't think for one second I don't want that too." She whispered.

A small smile twitched at Red's mouth. "...I'll see you soon, Rosalie."

The call ended with a soft _click._

_December 30th, 1998 - The Armel Estate - Marseille, France_

Rosalie arrived in Marseille early the morning before New Year's Eve. Marietta fussed about, deploring she didn't call often enough. The young woman made it up to her by taking her out for a girls' day at a nearby spa, followed by shopping and dinner. By the time the women returned in the evening, Marietta was in excellent spirits.

As they entered the house, Rosalie could hear the sound of Florian's booming voice echoing from the library. The sound, usually so comforting, had dropped a stone in the young woman's stomach. Turning to Marietta, she said, "_Maman_, I'm going to see what he is up to." Rosalie jerked her head toward the sound of the blustering man.

The older woman nodded, smiling and toting her purchases toward her room.

Rosalie made her way down the hall and knocked softly on the open door of the library.

"We need to talk."

Florian looked up from his discussion with Cedric to give her a steely look which the young woman returned with interest. The mobster asked the younger man to give them a moment.

Cedric left with little ado, recognizing Rosalie was in no mood to be trifled with.

As the heavy oak door closed behind him, Florian gestured toward the open seat, which Rosalie took.

"I heard something of concern from my business partner Christmas Day. It seems you felt it necessary to chastise him for what happened in Munich."

The man pulled the stopper from a bottle of cognac, "You were shot because of him."

"That wasn't Raymond's fault." she defended.

"There is an issue within his organization." Florian insisted, pouring two glasses of the amber liquid and handing one to her.

Rosalie took a sip and shook her head pointedly. "It's an outside issue."

The old mobster scowled disbelievingly. "How would you know?"

"It was why we were in Munich. One of his associates was killed."

"So you aren't the only person associated with him who's being shot." He shrewdly observed, peering over his glass at her.

"That was far from the first time I've been shot at, Florian."

"You know what I mean, _Fille_, I want _better_ for you."

"And this 'better' you speak of, does it take into consideration what I want?" Rosalie's tone was icy, determined to alter Florian's sudden change of opinion on Raymond.

The man's frown deepened at her questions. "Rosalie, you know I wish you to be happy."

"I'm happy with Reddington." She snapped defensively, "I was happy before the mess in Munich and I'm happy now."

"That's not what Otto tells me." The old mobster retorted, "According to him, you were quite upset the night of Marcelo's party."

Rosalie's slate eyes hardened, the older man smirked triumphantly. "Otto needs to learn to keep his mouth shut." she stated bluntly, "Raymond and I were confronted with the fact that something in our friendship changed, and due to circumstances bigger than either of us, we can't explore those possibilities."

Florian frowned in confusion, "What circumstances?"

"There's something coming for him. Something big." Rosalie growled, her sharp eyes meeting Florian's icy blues. "If we were to become romantically involved, I would become a point of weakness. His enemies could use me to destroy him, and I can't allow such a thing to happen." Her gaze fell to her fingers which were fidgeting with the zipper of her new jacket. "Likewise, he knows what's coming and refuses to drag me into the fray."

"You're protecting each other by staying apart." stated Florian, the hard look on his face softening as he comprehended the situation.

"Yes." agreed Rosalie in a quivering voice, the emotions pressing in on her once more. "Frankly, this past month has been terribly unpleasant because of it." The young woman stood, "I should be going. I've got business to attend to in New York. You can have Otto back, I've no use for a guard whose loyalty is so obviously split."

"_Ma Fille-_" Florian began, ready to chastise her.

Rosalie wasn't having it. "No, Florian. He went behind my back and blabbed about a private matter. How could I trust him after that? Between Horace, Ted, and Dembe, I'm sure we will get along just fine."

Rosalie stopped to bend and kiss his cheek, shelving her anger for a moment. "I love you, _Pére_. Very much."

The man stood to walk her out, seeing her decision was cast. She hugged him once more, promising to call once she landed.

"And _Pére,_" Rosalie added, stopping in the doorway, "Don't ever tell Raymond Reddington what he should want for me."

_New Years' Eve - Soho Safehouse, New York City_

The afternoon of New Year's Eve, Dembe was surprised to hear the lock click on the door to the safehouse. He was reading in the kitchen when he heard the sound, immediately leaping to his feet, gun in hand. A head of blonde hair poked through the doorway, raising an eyebrow blithely at him.

"Room for one more?"

Dembe dropped the weapon immediately, tucking it back into its holster. Her question was worded softly, timidly, in a manner most unlike the innkeeper. The young bodyguard eyed her bags quizzically.

"We didn't expect you for a few more days at least." Dembe explained his less than friendly welcome. He beamed, seeing her toting her new overnight bag and wearing the jacket Raymond had gotten her. The young man gallantly took the bag from her and walked with her to one of the guest rooms.

"Yes, I'm a tad early, I hope that's alright." She fidgeted slightly upon entering her room.

The younger man smiled softly at her. "Raymond will be pleased. I am happy you are back, too."

The innkeeper's expression lit with warmth, reaching to squeeze Dembe's shoulder in thanks. He smiled back at her and left so she could unpack in peace.

After settling into her room, Rosalie went in search of a drink, unsure where Red was.

She took a heavy crystal glass from the bar cart in the lounge, loading it with ice, tonic, and her preferred gin. The bottle had just been put back in its place when a pair of large, warm hands grasped her shoulders.

The grip was gentle, moving to rub up and down her arms. Soothing thumbs kneaded the tight muscles, coaxing a soft sigh from the woman.

"You're home early." Raymond's voice purred against the shell of her ear.

The feel of his warm breath on her neck tickled, "I hope you don't mind," she shivered, "I was ready to come back."

Red gently turned the little woman around, his hazel eyes searching her features. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lied, reaching up to stroke the soft cashmere of his sweater. He was wearing the dove grey one she had gotten him for Christmas. "I just needed to come home."

Her eyes belied the truth, though, telling Raymond everything. She had gotten into an argument with Florian over what was said at Marcelo's, and didn't want to talk about it.

Red hadn't meant for her to take up the issue with the old mobster. Though he should have known she would. Sensing her consternation, he leaned forward, wrapping his strong arms around her lithe frame.

Rosalie relaxed into the embrace, pressing her body tight to his and nuzzling into Red's shoulder. The frustration of the past few weeks melted into the ether, replaced by the comfort and affection radiating from the man holding her. They stood wrapped up together for several long moments before the sound of Dembe walking the hall pulled them from their solitude.

When the young man poked his head into the lounge, Raymond didn't budge.

"Yes?" He murmured, cheek still resting atop the head of blonde hair.

"I'm ordering from Nom Wah's shortly." He held up a menu, "Rosalie, do you want your usual?"

"Yes, please." the woman's muffled voice issued from Red's chest.

Dembe smiled knowingly and closed the door, his footsteps retreating back down the hall.

Rosalie lifted her head to look at Raymond. "Is this okay?"

"Is what okay?"

"Dembe. I think he might have noticed." she laughed gesturing between them.

"Oh he won't say a word." Raymond sighed, still holding her tight. "If there's anyone we can trust with these moments, it's Dembe."

"Really?" She whispered, her smile widening in surprise.

He smiled back at her, reaching to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. "Of course. Dembe is the only one who knows about our little sleepover in Munich. He may have teased me about it later on in private, but he hasn't told a soul what we got up to."

"How did he find out?" asked Rosalie, aghast.

"We left the door open," chuckled Raymond, enjoying her surprised expression. "He closed it for us."

The woman held a newfound appreciation for her young friend. It meant quite a lot for him to keep their confidence, not even telling Horace what had transpired. When Dembe returned to inform them of when the takeout could be expected, Rosalie hurtled across the room and hugged him tightly.

Dembe was surprised to say the least, hesitating a millisecond before returning the affection, a serene smile lighting his features.

Raymond stood, hands in pockets, watching the proceedings with unguarded affection.

The trio spent the next few hours enjoying their rare quiet evening in. There were boxes upon boxes of heavenly smelling food from Nom Wah's, which they had devoured until fit to burst. The time between dinner and ringing in the New Year was filled with raucous stories, several competitive board games, and one very well-loved record player.

As it neared midnight, the three had settled onto the sofa, Dembe in one corner, Raymond in the other, with Rosalie nestled in between, her head resting in the crook of Red's shoulder.

The pair had stayed within touching distance all night. A brush here, a squeeze there, they took full advantage of the nearly empty house and Dembe's trustworthiness to satiate a bit of their need for physical contact.

When the grandfather clock in the lounge chimed 11:45, Rosalie dropped her hand to squeeze Red's knee and extended a slender leg to prod Dembe's torso with a sock-clad toe.

The impish smirk on her face fell when, to her immense surprise, Dembe reached with cat-like reflexes and snagged her foot. A mischievous grin overtook his features as his other hand reached to tickle the bottom of the appendage.

Rosalie squealed with laughter, desperately attempting to get away.

Raymond was of no help, wrapping his arms around the little woman, holding her fast and cheering his counterpart on in his pursuits.

By the time 11:50 rolled around, all three were roaring with laughter and breathing as though they had ran a mile.

Red beamed at the other occupants of the couch, his closest friends. Dembe's deep chuckle mixed jovially with Rosalie's tinkling laugh, creating an infectious duet that made the man's spirits soar.

"I'm going to the roof to watch the fireworks, anyone else?" the woman gasped, eyes streaming and heart still pounding. Her cohorts nodded, pushing lazily off the couch. Red nabbed the portable turntable and a couple of records while Dembe pretended to chase Rosalie into the kitchen, sending her into peals of laughter again.

The young woman stopped to make them each a hot drink while the men headed up to the rooftop deck. Raymond propped open the floor-to-ceiling windows with the cantilever, positioning the record player near the opening so the music would echo out into the night. He and Dembe stepped onto the cold terrace, zipping their jackets and donning their gloves.

"You two seem to be getting along." intoned Dembe knowingly.

"I could say the same for you." countered Raymond, having noticed the camaraderie blossoming between the bodyguard and the innkeeper.

"I like her," agreed Dembe, "She is good for all of us. Kind, warm, caring. She was very upset when she came home. I think she is much happier now."

A tender smile appeared on Reddington's face, recognizing how he and his counterpart had banded together to brighten her mood.

Rosalie appeared moments later with hot toddies for her and Raymond and hot chocolate for Dembe. She had also donned one of Red's fedoras. He had forgotten the item and was already feeling the chill.

The man laughed appreciatively, plucking the hat from her curls and popping it on his head with a flourish before taking his drink.

Rosalie handed Dembe his usual knitted hat before pulling on a pair of her own fluffy earmuffs.

The trio sat on the edge of the roof listening to the music and waving to the few neighbours willing to brave the chilly rooftops around them. All were silent, waiting for the sounds of the New Year.

As the clock ticked over to midnight, a lone golden firework burst into the sky, its fiery trail pointing to the location of Times Square in the distance. There was whistling and cheering all around as the revellers wished each other the happiest of New Year's.

Dembe stood, setting down his cup and murmuring, "And that is my cue, 'To All a Good Night!'"

Rosalie stood on her tiptoes and kissed Dembe's cheek warmly, making the young man flush with amusement. He turned to hug Raymond, the men giving each other a firm pat on the back before Dembe nodded, leaving the other two to their own devices. As he stepped through the opening below, they heard him switching the records, laughing merrily as 'Auld Lang Syne' came crooning out into the night.

Raymond cocked his head to the side, chuckling and beaming at the woman who was beaming back at him. Without a word, he held out his hand, which she took. He pulled the feminine frame tight to him, leading her into a dance.

It felt right, swaying and spinning her around the rooftop. The fireworks thundered in the distance, lighting the New York skyline with a riot of colour. Raymond looked down at the bundle in his arms, her face alight with warmth as she swayed with him.

When those dancing grey eyes met Red's playful hazels, something called to him. A vital promise of comfort and affection beckoned to him. Like a siren drawing a sailor to the sea, her gaze pulled him in, coaxing all manner of lies.

Red told himself her lips were made for him, that if he kissed them, just once, it would be enough. He convinced himself he'd be able stop at one. He was certain he could sail these seas alone for the rest of his days if he could taste her lips, just once.

Rosalie watched Raymond's gaze darken, volatile and wanting. Why did he have to be so handsome? So caring? He held her, steadfast and warm, bringing her attention back to those sensations she had been sorely missing. He was the only fixed point to which she could cling on this spinning blue ball. He was the only thing that calmed the chaos. The only thing that made sense in this world. She was certain, if she could kiss the lips that spoke so gently to her, the world would cease to move. Everything would be calm and quiet.

Surrendering to the tempting notions, they leaned closer, their noses brushing teasingly against each other's before finally giving in.

Their lips met in one gentle, chaste caress.

It was quick, too quick for either party's liking, yet the kiss held a searing, burning electricity. Like a lone streak of lightning flashing across a starless night, it was white-hot and blinding. The small affection held so much more than either was prepared for.

Raymond was hit with the overwhelming truth that just once would never be enough, that it seemed her lips truly _were_ made for him, and most unsettlingly, he had no desire to sail any sea where she couldn't follow. He opened his eyes to see Rosalie's face mirroring the shock he felt.

Instead of the calm and quiet she had expected, the simple touch had brought forth a roaring inferno within her. The world seemed to speed up, hurtling at breakneck speeds as she tried desperately to hold on.

The pair's eyes met in stunned silence. They were in deep, deep trouble, and they knew it.

Raymond and Rosalie had crept back down the stairs, scurrying to their separate rooms, still reeling from what had happened on the roof. Rosalie changed in a hurry, donning one of her usual silk pyjama sets and the new kimono with the bluebells on it before steeling her resolve and tiptoeing down the hall.

It was a small kiss, it shouldn't have felt like anything. So why did it feel like everything? The young woman wasn't certain what had passed in that kiss, all she knew was that all she wanted was in the room at the end of the hall. Rosalie's mind went silent as she pulled up to Raymond's room, tapping on the door with a lone digit before entering.

Red was seated on his side of the bed beneath the blankets, his eyes wide and a lone brow quirked in question.

"We can trust Dembe and Horace won't be here until late tomorrow." she whispered, closing the door. "I want to sleep here, with you. Just for tonight." She allowed the kimono to slip from her shoulders, pooling like water on the floor.

Red's mouth went bone dry.

"Please?" she added, sweetly.

Raymond didn't have the strength to deny such a request. Especially when she said it like that. Her voice was soft and soothing, imploring the man within to acquiesce just this once. Without hesitation, he pulled back the blankets, the white sheets showing brightly in the moonlight. "Come here," he rasped, beckoning her to him. Rosalie wasted no time in moving over to the bed. The moment she slid into the cool sheets, Raymond pulled her body flush against his, cradling her head to his shoulder and burying his face in the nape of her neck with a broken sigh.

They weren't certain what would happen in the coming year. They weren't sure how long they could fight what was happening between them. For now, just tonight, they surrendered to their need for closeness. Just for tonight, they would sleep ensconced in their favoured sanctuary.

Unbeknownst to them, Dembe lie awake in his room, feigning sleep. A broad grin broke across the man's face as he heard the little footsteps scuttle from one end of the hall to the other before disappearing behind Raymond's door. '_Slowly but surely,' _he mused, turning onto his side, '_the universe always finds a way.'_

_Four months later - The Liberty Safehouse - Washington D.C - April 1999_

The next few months passed with little change.

Raymond and Rosalie settled back into their pre-Munich state; enjoying each other's company while pretending to be blissfully unaware of their mutual attraction. They accomplished this admirably, mostly due to the nights where one of them would break and sneak into the other's room, echoing the 'just for tonight' sentiment they had taken up on New Year's.

Dembe was still the only one to know about their late night wanderings. As was his way, he hadn't breathed a word to Horace or Ted, but had greatly enjoyed giving Raymond a good ribbing when they were alone. He had even teased Rosalie about it, chuckling at the vibrant blush that always graced her cheeks when he did so.

When Raymond left for Havana, however, the pair were forced to return to their original sleeping arrangements. They had parted in rather glum spirits in Washington D.C., staring down a long three weeks in separate countries.

Two weeks into the stint, Rosalie had just finished a new acquisition, and was heading back to the brownstone she affectionately dubbed, 'Liberty'. It was a lovely freestanding brownstone in classic red brick with dark black trim. Though Rosalie didn't particularly like D.C., it was the seat of the U.S. government, and therefore a hotbed of criminal activity. She had a handful of properties and had just been prevailed upon to purchase another as client after client was booking.

Red had been busy dealing with business in Havana, but he called a couple of times a day to check in, provide updates, and most importantly, to laugh with his business partner.

Ted and Horace had just walked her into the safehouse and plopped on the couch when a loud jingle erupted from Rosalie's jacket. She pulled out the burner, smiling at the sight of Raymond's most current number. Rosalie flipped the phone open and had just opened her mouth to speak when Raymond's voice rang clearly out of the speaker. "_Rosie, dear!_"

Rosalie halted, her blood running cold.

"I've been looking for that kolache recipe from the last time we were in _Havana_. Do you know where it is?"

Dread. Cold, biting dread filled the woman's stomach as she realized what the man was asking.

'Rosie, dear' was their code phrase.

Raymond was in trouble, and needed to get out of the safehouse in Havana. Rosalie mentally shook herself, her mind firing into action.

"Is the recipe on the fridge?" she asked, her tone concerned.

"No" he said genially. _'Ok,' _she thought, '_he can't_ _speak_ _freely_.'

"You need a black site?" she asked softly.

"Yes, and another _pan_." he emphasized.

Rosalie pulled out a pen and paper, her mind working feverishly. _A pan_?

"An exit?" she tried, unsure if she had come to the correct conclusion.

Red cocked his head, beaming at nothing in particular, "Yes, dear."

Rosalie's brain hurtled along, formulating a plan. Red needed a black site and a way out of the house which wouldn't draw suspicion. There was just one loose end.

"Doesn't Dembe knew my recipe by heart?" she asked, hoping he would understand. He did.

"You know; he might remember it but he's all the way out in the car." Red sincerely hoped nothing had happened to the young man in his absence. There were still two guards out front.

Rosalie would need to contact Dembe once Red was safely out of harm's way.

The path forward clear, Rosalie quickly and precisely guided him on what to do. "In the lounge, there's a copy of '_The Wheel Spins_'. Middle bay, third shelf from the top, eighth book in. Coordinates are written on the binding."

Rosalie heard him jovially making his excuses to the individuals in the room and turn toward the hallway leading to the room in question.

"When you walk into the room, a key is hidden in the frame, at your eye level. Press the circle."

Red looked surreptitiously up at the door frame as he walked into the lounge, quickly prodding the inlay without missing a step. He caught the key which sprung out, making a beeline for the bookshelf.

"The key goes into the same bay where you'll find the book. Take both with you when you leave. The tunnel leads to a hatch by the main road."

Reddington plucked the book she had indicated from the shelf and slid the key into the lock. He slid behind the bay and closed the opening just in time to hear footsteps coming down the hallway.

"That's my clever girl." Raymond's voice purred affectionately in her ear as she heard him taking the tunnel's stairs two at a time.

Rosalie pulled another satellite phone from the kitchen table. "I need to call Dembe-" she began, but Reddington interrupted her.

"No," he barked, "if you call him, they will smell something is off and he'll become a target."

"You don't think they already have an inkling something is up after you Houdini-ed out of the lounge?" she snapped. Reddington's amused chuckle reverberated through the line as she dialled the younger man.

Dembe picked up immediately, his voice steady and calm. "I'm already on the move. Where is he?"

"Left at the bottom of the hill, on the main road. 200 yards from the turn."

Rosalie held her breath as she waited, listening to the sound of Dembe driving the sedan hard down the hill. Tires screeched through the connection as she heard a heavy metal thud from Red's line. The man was out of the hatch.

"On your left, Dembe." She whispered, still clutching both phones anxiously.

The young innkeeper's knuckles were white as she squeezed the devices, listening to the sounds of screeching tires and running feet.

Horace walked up to her confused as to why she was clutching two phones like the last life rafts on a sinking ship.

Her wide grey eyes looked panic-stricken as she mouthed the words '_Havana_' and _'HUGE problem'_. She turned to wave at Ted, gesturing him to bring the car back out of the garage. If Raymond and Dembe were hurt or captured, they would need to head to Havana immediately.

Tires screeched through both phones, and Rosalie let out a sigh of relief as she heard a car door open then slam shut, Raymond's voice echoed through the lines, breathing heavily. "Go. We need to make the airport before they do."

"Rosalie?" His voice echoed, losing some of its bite. "You need to take Horace and head for the black site."

Horace nodded at her, moving to pack up their things.

"How far do you think you can get?" she asked, whipping the black site folio from her bag.

"We can get state side, as long as we're on the plane in the next five minutes." Red tapped Dembe's shoulder softly, urging him to punch it.

The engine roared through the phone's connection as Rosalie scanned the folio feverishly. "The book, you need to separate the pages from the binding. The coordinates are there."

She no more than got the words out when she heard a tell-tale rip on the other line. Red read out the coordinates, "37.104894 x -83.323248?"

"Good," she said, "give those to Edward and stay below radar range." She heard the sound of Red and Dembe exiting the sedan and striding quickly to the plane, engines already roaring.

"Rosalie, we'll need to find an airport first." Red reminded looking in the distance for any tails.

"Oh no you won't." She sing-songed in his ear, "The property is nearly 300 acres, and it has a cleared landing strip."

Reddington emitted a barking laugh as Dembe hurtled through the plane's door, slamming it closed behind him. "Oh Rosalie," he sighed appreciatively, "When we land I'm either marrying you or giving you an obscene raise."

"My, my, what dictates your decision?" She purred as she heard him relaxing into one of the seats, safely airborne.

Raymond didn't miss a beat, "Whether or not there's kolaches." His tone was completely serious, and the man found his bodyguard nodding in agreement beside him.

"Dembe says if they're all lemon, _he'll_ marry you." Red teased, holding the phone out of the other man's reach.

"I said no such thing, Rosalie." Dembe called in his smooth voice, then added, "But I would very much appreciate the lemon ones."

Her tinkling laugh cascaded out of the phone, warming both men considerably. "Are you telling me you wouldn't want to get married Dembe?" She whinged, her voice tinged with mock outrage.

"You couldn't keep up with me." Dembe teased, earning a roaring laugh from Raymond.

"If I feed you too many baked goods you won't be able to keep up with anyone." The woman quipped right back, making both men beam at each other.

"I'll see what I have, I'm not sure if I have blackberries either."

"I think she's trying to let us both down easy." Red intoned sullenly.

"Her loss, we are quite the catch." Dembe muttered sagely.

"Hold on now, I didn't realize you came as a two for one special." She teased, her interest obviously peaked.

Dembe chuckled deeply at the scowl that darkened Raymond's face.

"All joking aside, Rosalie, you need to take Horace and head for the black site as well. I don't trust Castro's people not to go after you. He seemed to know that was your house."

"Damn, I'll have to burn it then." He heard her grumble irritably. "Wait...did you say Castro? As in, _the_ Castro?"

Red tilted his head back and forth, "The very same. The man is exceptional at rallying support, but when it comes to extra-legal activities, he's incredibly short-sighted."

"Is it really that bad, Raymond?"

He pondered the situation for a moment, "...No, I just fear Dembe and I will go stir crazy if it's just the two of us."

The woman laughed again, Red could hear her packing up her things and calling to Horace.

"Think of it as an impromptu vacation," he sweetened the pot, "Wherever we're headed we will actually be in one place for longer than two days."

Rosalie bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning, failing miserably.

"I'll take that as an emphatic and resounding yes." chimed Raymond, recognizing the sound of her overnight bag zipping.

"_Yes_" she all but squealed, causing a roar of laughter to issue from the device.

Rosalie and Horace packed hurriedly. Ted was bringing around the car and would fly out with them. Once Red's plane landed, Ted would board and escort the pilot to safety while Raymond and Dembe remained at the black site.

Raymond would be there in four hours, which meant the trio needed to leave immediately to get there before them.

A horn issued from the front of the house, alerting them to Ted's presence. Horace took the bags out to the car while Rosalie closed down the safehouse. Her guards came to flank her on either side as she exited the brownstone, intent on getting to the airport as fast as possible.

Rosalie's suv was heading down the highway at a steady clip when Red called again.

"Are you in the air?"

"Not yet," she said, watching as Ted navigated traffic. "We should be up in fifteen minutes."

"Good," sighed Raymond, his nerves calming slightly.

Rosalie's head turned towards Horace, a gasp just barely escaping her mouth before a loud crash sounded through the connection.

Reddington stood stock still in front of the aircraft's bar, listening to the sound. "Rosalie?" There was nothing on the other end.

"Rosalie!" Red called, his concern growing by the second.

Shouting echoed from the other line followed by a barrage of gunshots. Red's eyes were narrowed in anger as he strode quickly to the cockpit.

"Edward, there's been a change of plans. Take us to D.C."

"No can do, sir." said Edward, polite yet firm.

"What?" snapped Reddington.

"I'm under strict orders from your innkeeper. Black site protocol is in place, I can't deviate from the flight pattern." The man looked apologetic as he turned to look at Raymond.

"What do you mean black site protocol?" Red growled. He heard Rosalie's voice echo out of the phone.

"Raymond!"

"Rosalie, what happened?"

"We were side-swiped by someone. Horace took out the driver, I got their tires, but we aren't sure who else might be following us. We need to go dark."

"Are you okay?" He asked, concerned less about where they were headed and more about the sickening crunch he had heard coming out of the phone.

"Yeah, the windows were blown out, but we're fine." She sighed, "Raymond I've got to go, it's not safe for either of us to be on the phone. I'll see you soon, alright?"

The man pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Okay, but when we get there you and I are talking about this black site protocol business." he groused.

"Deal." she laughed, closing the phone with a snap.

_Five hours later - Black Site #5 aka "Break Maiden" - Undisclosed Location, Kentucky_

Edward landed the plane on the dirt tarmac long enough for Raymond and Dembe to disembark and Ted to board before taking off again.

Horace stood at the gate to meet them, his expression sombre.

"Where is she?" barked Raymond, tossing their bags into the rear of the truck.

The older bodyguard held his hands up in a placating gesture. "She's fine, she's got a couple scrapes from the crash, but other than those she is absolutely fine. She's not out here to meet you because she's in the bath."

This did little to appease the high-strung fugitive. He waved the other two to follow him, quickly boarding the vehicle so they could get to the house. Horace smirked knowingly at his younger counterpart, whose eyes were glinting with suppressed amusement.

The truck rumbled up a long open stretch of pea stone road bordered by live oak trees and white split-pole fencing. There were dark shapes moving in the moonlight on the other side of the fence, but Raymond paid them no mind. He could see soft lights at the end of the lane. A magnificent farmhouse with an enormous wrap-around porch emerged like a crown at the top of the hill. It loomed tall above the trees, somehow alive and cheerful even in the dead of night.

The truck came to a stop in the horseshoe driveway, Red barely waited for the vehicle to cease its momentum before stepping out and striding purposefully through the home's double doors. He didn't stop to admire the warm, comforting atmosphere before he took the staircase, two at a time, up to the second floor.

Dembe laughed softly to himself, assisting Horace with the bags.

"One would think he missed her_._" Dembe commented smoothly in an undertone.

"Oh she missed him_._" Horace replied, beaming a mischievous grin. "She was pacing a rut in the floor waiting for you. It was driving me insane. I made her go take a bath and conveniently forgot to tell her when you had landed." The guard's amusement was barely contained as they brought the luggage into the house.

Dembe shook his head, thinking Horace would be very lucky to survive Rosalie's wrath once she found out.

He found Raymond in the upstairs hallway, leaning with his back against the master bathroom door. His eyes were closed as he breathed in deeply. From the confines of the bathroom, Dembe was surprised to hear a velvety voice issuing a gentle melody. He watched as Raymond's mouth twitched a soft smile, unaware of the bodyguard's presence.

"What's she singing now, Mustang Sally?" Horace teased loudly, coming up the stairs.

Reddington placed a lone digit in front of his lips and shushed him with a scowl. "Gershwin." he murmured, lying his head back against the door as the woman's voice crooned the opening bars.

Red's soul hummed a quiet contentment. She was fine. Rosalie was perfectly safe, singing away in the master bath, most likely entrenched in a horde of bubbles. The last thought left a tantalizing image in his mind which he struggled to remove.

Dembe arose from the stairs a moment later with an ice cold bottle of beer in each hand, holding one out to Raymond.

He took the beverage gratefully; it had been a terribly long day. The men stood in communal silence, listening to the impromptu concert with soft smiles written on their faces. Raymond had not been the only one missing the young innkeeper's presence. Dembe had obviously missed her as well.

The pair had developed a close camaraderie since New Year's, and could often be found deep in discussion whenever there was a free moment. They shared a love of languages and the written word, endlessly discovering new phrases and literary recommendations to share with each other. The sight always warmed Raymond considerably, pleased that they had found friendship in one another.

A few minutes later, they heard the sound of the bathtub draining. Dembe pushed off the opposite wall, clinking his bottle with Raymond's before taking his leave, giving them a moment.

Deciding not to linger too long on how _that_ understanding came about, Raymond turned to stare fixedly at the door. The woman's humming could still be heard as she padded around the bath, completing her usual routine. Raymond had just set his bottle on a nearby piece of furniture when a drawn out sigh issued from within, the door unlocking with a _click_.

Rosalie stepped out of the steamy confines, not realizing Red was there. She called out to her guard, "Horace, if he's not here in the next ten seconds, I'm-" She stopped, seeing a pair of brown leather shoes in front of her. The slate orbs roamed up the familiar stocky frame, recognizing the waistcoat and crisp white shirt immediately. A soft gasp left her mouth when she met Raymond's gaze.

He looked at her with a mixture of surprise, concern, and hunger. The little woman was wrapped in naught but a fluffy white towel. Her blonde tresses fell in damp waves along her shoulders, which were a pleasant pink from the hot water. Red noticed a minor cut on the arm not holding the towel, and a small bruise on her left knee from the crash. As Horace had said, other than a few scrapes she was absolutely fine.

A tiny scratch on her left cheek called to him, but before Raymond could react, Rosalie was closing the space between them. A small hand reached out to touch him, skirting over his torso and unbuttoning the waistcoat that was covering his middle. Raymond was about to ask her what she was doing when, with a surge of emotion, he realized she was checking _him_ for injuries. Her movements were frantic, fingers skating all over his body, rotating him so she could check every angle. Raymond gladly allowed her to bully him about in several circles, ensuring every inch of him was intact. Satisfied that he was in perfect condition, Rosalie stopped fidgeting and let out a shaky breath.

Red grinned, cupping her cheek gently and brushing a large thumb over the satin soft skin.

"You're okay?" She asked, the concern continuing to roll off of her in waves. Her anxious eyes still flitted critically over his broad frame.

"I'm fine, thanks to you." He took a step forward, his hand splayed on the wall behind her, thoroughly boxing her in with his large frame. "Have I ever told you just how incredible your network is?" he purred, eyes boring into hers.

"N-no" stammered Rosalie, her knees buckling. She was suddenly painfully aware of the heat coursing through her body, how little she was wearing, and how much his proximity was affecting her.

"You, my clever little innkeeper, have created something incredible." His thumb continued to stroke her cheek as a luminous blush flooded the porcelain skin. His praise seemed to rob her of speech, leaving a small 'o' of surprise between her rosy lips. "I have never had an exit go so smoothly after a negotiation going so wrong. There's not a scratch on either of us."

The young woman beamed with pride at his statement. "I'm glad you're both safe, Raymond." She breathed, the sincerity in her voice plucking at his heart strings.

Red struggled to hold himself in check, knowing he couldn't, shouldn't kiss her. They hadn't since that fateful night in New York. He settled for resting his forehead against hers, her nose nuzzling playfully against his own.

Horace stood unnoticed at the end of the hallway, one of Rosalie's scarves clutched in hand. It had managed to end up in his bag while they were haphazardly packing. His eyes were transfixed on his charge and her business partner. Horace seemed to have happened upon a private moment. If Rosalie's body language was anything to go by, he had stumbled upon a _very_ private moment. The bodyguard remained paralyzed on the spot, gaping at his discovery.

Dembe, whose door had remained open, stopped his unpacking at the sight of the older guard blatantly gawking in the hallway. Realizing what the man was likely staring at, Dembe made a soft _psst _sound.

Horace's head jerked toward the noise, eyes the size of dinner plates. '_Oh My God'_ he mouthed.

Dembe's shook his head in exasperation. Acting quickly, he reached out with one large hand, angling four fingers to the ground and waving them toward Horace in a scooching gesture.

Horace cocked his head in confusion, jerking his thumb significantly down the hallway and waving the young bodyguard toward him.

Dembe's head shook back and forth again, slowly. He repeated the gesture with his hand, mouthing, '_Go Back!'_

With one last glance at the pair down the hall, Horace took one swift, silent step back into his room. Safely hidden from sight, the large man put his hands on top of his head, still in shock.

Dembe continued to unpack, perfectly unphased, though a small smile was tugging at his lips.

Rosalie waited the appropriate amount of time after everyone had gone to bed before practically leaping out from under her blankets. Completely forgoing her usual silk robe, she opened her bedroom door and stealthily crept out into the hall. Being deep in the Kentucky countryside meant the house's interior was pitch black once night settled. This didn't bother Rosalie in the slightest. These halls were more familiar than the back of her hand, even in the dead of night. She effectively dodged the tricky little table next to the master bath and the navigated squeaky floorboard that marked the halfway point before running into something large.

Raymond had just left his room and began shuffling down the long expanse of impossibly dark hallway when he bumped into a small, warm bundle. Rosalie emitted a tiny squeak of surprise which Red quickly muffled with his hand. He rushed forward, clutching the woman tight to him so she didn't fall from the sudden collision.

A feminine giggle snuck out of her throat as his lips brushed her ear.

"You said you were good at sneaking out." He reminded, his hand releasing her mouth.

"I don't usually have to do it while playing red rover with the FBI's most wanted." She whispered hoarsely, trying desperately not to laugh.

Raymond sniggered at her wit, bending to capture her around the middle. He stood so she was draped over his shoulder, her little body trembling with suppressed laughter. "Come with me my little deviant," he purred, "I haven't slept well in weeks."


	12. Old Kentucky Home

Blacksite #5 - Break Maiden - Undisclosed Location, Kentucky - May 1, 1999

Raymond awoke the following day warm, comfortable, and completely surrounded by the scent of a woman. After tossing and turning for the past two weeks, having her with him allowed the man to truly sleep.

Red tightened his hold on the soft bundle, nuzzling into the fragrant nape of her neck and letting out a contented hum. He felt a deep sense of calm and relaxation as they lay curled up in the early morning light.

Rosalie woke at his touch, nestling deeper into his hold. A soft hand reached out to gently stroke the warm arms wrapped around her. She slept better last night than the entirety of the two weeks he had been gone.

Footsteps could be heard in the hall, alerting them Dembe was up and about.

The young woman let out an irritated sigh. "Not yet." She grumbled, tugging the blanket up to hide them from sight.

The blanket flopped to only partially obscure Raymond from view, garnering a low chuckle. "Ten minutes." He reminded, reaching to tug the blanket the rest of the way over them.

Hearing Dembe moving about in the hall meant Horace would soon be up and about as well. Both guards could be relied upon to wake up at the same times every day without fail.

Raymond and Rosalie had used this knowledge to hone the timing of their late night wanderings to an absolute science. The pair knew exactly how much time there would be each morning to get back to their respective rooms. Now Dembe was awake, they had precisely ten minutes before Horace would exit his room.

Rosalie turned grumpily and wrapped her arms around Raymond, nuzzling into his chest.

The man smiled at the action, stroking a hand along her ribcage.

"I slept terribly without you." she confessed, fiddling with the neckline of his shirt.

Red's fingertips continued caressing her torso as his mouth met her ear. "So I shouldn't feel guilty for already planning to sneak into your room tonight?"

The statement coaxed a giggle from Rosalie, lightening her mood considerably.

An hour later, the occupants of the house were all contentedly eating breakfast. In the light of day, they could finally appreciate the beauty of the home they were in.

The French farmhouse kitchen was enormous. Dark blue cabinets with shining brass hardware lined the walls, pairing beautifully with the warm butcher block counters. A large island took centre stage, made of dark cherry wood and paired with a startling white marble countertop. High above the island hung a massive cast iron rack, from which hung several gleaming pots and pans. In all, the effect was magnificent.

Rosalie was obviously thrilled to be in the big house. The men watched her with varying degrees of amusement as she flitted happily about the room getting breakfast ready.

Rosalie was like Raymond in that home was wherever she laid her head. However, as the man in question watched her intently, his curiosity was peaked. Where in other safehouses Rosalie might hesitate a millisecond before recalling where the utensil drawer was or which hidden compartment held the firearms, she moved throughout the farmhouse with absolute certainty. She carried on her usual conversations with Dembe and Horace without skipping a beat, and there were little movements she made which looked honed, practiced to the point of being nonchalant. The thought was intriguing, and brought forth a sea of questions in the man's mind.

Once the foursome finished the last vestiges of their meal, the young innkeeper smiled softly. "Well, shall we take a quick tour?"

There was a murmur of assent followed by the scraping of four chairs as they trooped out into the entryway.

Rosalie led them out into the front drive, hopping into the driver's seat of the large truck. Horace shook his head and snorted with laughter as the woman grinned triumphantly.

"We're at a blacksite. I get to drive!" She cheered, not even bothering to buckle her seatbelt. The large bodyguard relented to take the backseat with Dembe, leaving Reddington to the front with Rosalie.

In the glowing morning sun, the guests could see the drive was lined with white split-pole fencing which was further split into a series of paddocks. A few black and white cows meandered about in one, while another held an enormous pair of gleaming black horses. They had driven halfway down the drive before Rosalie pulled the truck to the side between two tall live oaks. She hopped out, opening a gate to one of the empty pastures and driving through. The truck trundled up a clearly worn path in the grass, pulling up to the crest of another hill, topped with a towering dogwood tree.

The group stepped out of the vehicle in the shade of the large tree and looked out over the expansive property.

There were seven large paddocks surrounding the house on the hill. Each were framed in white fencing and more than half held animals of some kind, most of them horses. Beyond the paddocks and the stable stretched acres and acres of forests and fields, creating a natural barrier of privacy and protection around the property. Far in the distance, they could just make out the little dirt landing strip they had touched down on the night before.

Raymond knew the woman had said the whole thing was 300 acres, but he was still taken aback by the sheer size of the property. "What is this place?"

Rosalie stood next to him with her hands in her jacket pockets, a warm smile lighting her features. "Blacksite number 5, though I call her Break Maiden."

The group watched half a dozen horses come galloping through one of the larger paddocks, the thunder of hooves completing the picturesque scene.

Dembe turned to look thoughtfully at Rosalie, "Break maiden is a racing term, is it not?"

She grinned at him, "Yes. A break maiden is when a horse or a jockey wins for the very first time."

Raymond's eyes searched her intently. Rosalie positively glowed as she gazed lovingly over the rolling pastures, the pride she felt radiating from her pores.

"This was your first safehouse." Red murmured in astonishment.

The slate eyes misted slightly as she nodded. "Yes, yes she was."

There was a long silence while the four took in the surroundings. A few minutes later Horace clapped his hands together. "Well, shall we?"

Dembe and Rosalie nodded, turning to follow the older guard back to the truck.

Raymond stood there a moment longer, staring at the beautiful surroundings. It was no wonder Rosalie was so attached to the place. It was idyllic, the very definition of comfort and safety.

The man found himself feeling a burst of pride for the woman. This had been her very first success. It explained his earlier observations on her behaviour easily. For her to keep the place all these years, turning it into such a haven, it would have taken a great deal of time and effort. She had obviously lived here for quite a while, getting it ready to be a safehouse.

There, on the hill, he could see the fruits of her labour as the property guarded both her and the three men safely within.

Rosalie looked over to the empty passenger's seat, realizing Raymond was still looking out over the property. She hopped back out of the truck and came to stand beside him.

"The house came into my possession nearly four years ago," she explained in a soft, warm voice, "Once I had enough capital, I bought the acreage around it and shifted it into a black site. I wanted it to remain as sacred as possible. A quiet haven."

She lifted mischievous brows, "You're actually the first person to stay here aside from myself."

"Well I'm flattered to be the one to pop the maiden's cherry." Red teased jauntily, tearing his eyes from the scenic view to grin roguishly at the little woman beside him.

She laughed at the rascally quip, a playful smile gracing her lips. It warmed her heart to see Raymond so interested in a place she so dearly loved. Were they alone, she would have stepped closer to him, would have nestled into his shoulder and traced her lips along his jaw, if she dared.

Raymond watched her features hungrily, enjoying the range of emotions that played out so openly there. His irreverent sense of humour tended to annoy women of Rosalie's level of wealth and power. They found the cavalier attitude impertinent.

Rosalie, thankfully, had more of a Wildean outlook on the human condition. She felt one's life was far too important a thing to be taken so seriously. Therefore, when Raymond's quick and often indecent wit came to the fore, Rosalie proved to be an active and eager audience. The thought had the man grinning rather devilishly.

In the confines of the truck, the two bodyguards looked on with knowing expressions.

"Do they think they're fooling anyone?" asked Horace, eyes narrowing through the tinted glass.

"We are all fools in love," quoted the younger man, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Yes," agreed Horace, "But all this bandying about is making me nauseous." He looked out the window at the couple making moon eyes at each other and mimed vomiting.

"Raymond and Rosalie think they are doing what is best for each other by denying their attraction." supplied Dembe with a shrug.

Horace quirked his eyebrows in disbelief, "And what's your take on that?"

"They won't be able to do so for long." The young bodyguard turned to meet his friend's gaze. "If the universe wants them together, no sense of duty will keep them apart."

The older man grinned deviously. "We could…help the universe along in its endeavour."

Dembe grinned and shook his head, "Rosalie's spirit speaks to Raymond's in a way I've not seen before. It is only a matter of time before he can't help but heed the call."

"You have the patience of Job, my friend. I would have just told him to get on with it by now."

Dembe's face lit with surprised amusement. "Have you told Rosalie such a thing?"

Horace scoffed, "Absolutely not. I value certain parts of my anatomy, thanks very much."

The pair worked to quickly stifle their chuckling as the other two loaded back into the truck.

Before they pulled away from the spot, Red turned to look at the trunk of the sweeping dogwood tree, noticing a neatly carved 'R' on its surface.

Rosalie took them back down the hill and around the property, pointing out various features of the land. There were several fields growing wheat, corn, and other crops, as well as a babbling creek traversing the wooded area. A short ride brought them back to the farmhouse, wherein she gave the men a tour of the rest of the home.

The farmhouse was large, but brimming with coziness. Spacious rooms dotted the floor plan, flowing openly into one another with a relaxed feel. The home was decorated in crisp white, stormy navy blue and the palest sage green. It felt crisp like an autumn morning, yet undeniably warm and comfortable with its brass hardware and wide plank oak floors. Though they shone like new, the boards were held down with old-fashioned handmade nails, the only thing hinting at the home's age.

Dembe and Horace found the home gym to their tastes, and there was an inviting office toward the back of the house, holding one massive partner's desk, a pair of tufted suede chairs and the ever-present bookcases Rosalie utilized for secret messages and contraband.

Once all were comfortable with the layout and where everything was, the group split off to pursue their plans for the day. Raymond needed to work on salvaging the botched deal in Havana, so he made for the office.

Rosalie was already camped out on one side of the partner's desk, an assortment of paperwork and burner phones stacked in front of her. She hadn't yet settled into her work, and Raymond had just recalled the promise she had made him the day before.

"We need to discuss these blacksite protocols of yours." He reminded, looking sternly at her.

"Oh?" She asked, wrinkling her nose behind her ledger. She had hoped he would forget.

Of course he hadn't.

Red eyed the ledger intently, "I was stuck on a plane with a pilot who wouldn't change course due to your directions."

Rosalie pursed her lips, the dark grey eyes just peeking over the large book. "I don't see the issue. Edward's job was to get you here safely and without distraction. I think he performed flawlessly."

Red placed a large hand on the middle of the desk and leaned forward. A finger appeared at the top of her ledger, gently pushing it down so he could see her face. "The issue is, when I hear a car slamming into yours over a spotty satellite connection ten thousand feet over the Gulf of Mexico, I need to be able to get to you."

Rosalie's mouth twitched, touched by the sentiment. "Raymond, that would go against the entire purpose of the blacksite protocols."

"I don't care," he insisted. "Rosalie, I would have pulled a gun on my own pilot if it meant he would have turned the plane toward D.C."

The young innkeeper looked up, aghast. "That would hardly have been necessary." She demanded, concerned for Edward.

"I wouldn't have pulled the trigger," Raymond assured her, "but I would have terrorized the man until he caved."

The conviction in his voice brought the truth crashing down on Rosalie. Raymond would have done exactly as he said, and she knew it.

Unbeknownst to the man in front of her, it was this attitude which kept Rosalie from pursuing him romantically.

They weren't even dating and yet there seemed to be nothing he wouldn't do to protect her. Rosalie didn't want to be such a liability.

The young woman fidgeted. She didn't want him to put himself in danger on her behalf. However, the man had just made it perfectly clear what actions he would take to protect those closest to him. It wasn't just for her either, she knew. What if it had been Dembe?

The thought altered her opinion of the matter, and she dropped her pen on the ledger in defeat.

Raymond nodded stiffly, recognizing he had gotten his point across. As he watched her bite her cheek irritably, he offered her an olive branch. "The protocols can stay in place for every other scenario, but where you, Dembe, or Kate are involved, I need to be able to alter the course.

Rosalie sighed tapping her finger distractedly against the ledger's cover. "Alright," she groused, "I'll rewrite the blacksite protocols."

The man smiled in his infuriatingly pleasant way, bouncing once on the balls of his feet before pulling up the chair opposite her.

"Despot."

Red caught the comment, his eyes glinting in open amusement.

This was Rosalie's way of saying she was irritated with him, but not terribly so.

Frankly, he adored getting her in such a state.

The circumstance played out like extended foreplay and usually produced a barrage of incredibly satisfying banter.

"Deviant." He countered, firing a shot over the bow. Red barely bit back the grin threatening to overcome him as the slate orbs burned with reluctant amusement.

He smirked in anticipation, settling in for a long, enjoyable day of winding her up.

By early evening, Rosalie wasn't sure if she was irritated or aroused. Being cooped up in the office all day with Raymond for company was enjoyable; however, she had learned months ago she couldn't be in a confined space with the man without eventually wanting to accost him. What was more frustrating was the knowledge he would take quite happily to her accosting.

It was that thought which made her practically leap out of her seat when Horace announced dinner was ready.

Red strolled casually after her, his hazel orbs merrily eyeing the mesmerizing swish of her backside.

The group chatted animatedly over dinner, enjoying the calm of knowing they wouldn't have to leave the blacksite for several days. Normally the dinner would be dotted with discussion of plans for transport and locations for the following day. Tonight, they could just relax and enjoy the evening.

Once the plates were cleared and the nightcaps finished, they happily started filtering upstairs for bed.

Raymond made his way to the other end of the hall shortly after the guards seemed asleep. Rosalie's door was propped open slightly, and he slid into the room without a sound.

The woman was curled up on her side, the blankets on his side of the bed already pulled back, waiting for him. Her right hand was outstretched, laying palm down on the empty space.

A smile tugged at Red's lips as he slid into the cool sheets, grasping the small hand and placing it against his cheek. The feminine form wiggled across the bed so he could pull her tightly to his chest, letting out a contented sigh as sleep quickly pulled them under.

Raymond woke early the following morning to a surprisingly empty bed. He listened intently to hear where Rosalie had wandered off to, but could not hear her usual movements. The man groaned as he shifted about, moving to stand and stretch. It was quite early, the sun was just unfurling over the horizon.

Looking out of the big picture window, Red noticed Rosalie walking toward an immaculate stable tucked diagonally behind the house. He decided to take a stroll about the property, and ultimately, see what the young woman was up to.

Fifteen minutes later, Red strode from the back door of the house, dressed in jeans, a baseball cap, and a dark button down. As he meandered up to the building, he could see Rosalie pacing back and forth in the isle, an enormous animal pawing the ground behind her. The woman was also dressed in jeans, with a sky blue button down covering her back. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose French braid, a tendril or two falling to frame her face.

Red stood in the doorway, admiring the magnificent sooty buckskin she was caring for. The horse was a couple feet taller than Raymond, and looked positively gigantic in comparison to the little woman beside it. However, the creature was immensely gentle, reaching to nibble playfully at the woman's shirt as she gently brushed him down. Rosalie stepped to the horse's front, smooching his forehead loudly as she scratched behind his ears. The animal nickered happily, bumping its huge head against the woman's torso in affection, nearly knocking her over. As she laughed and reached for the animal's tack, she caught sight of Red standing in the door, watching her.

"Oh! Raymond..." she said in surprise, still holding the heavy tack, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Is everything alright?"

Red smiled softly, "Yes, my dear, everything is fine. I hope you don't mind; I was just terribly curious to see where you had scurried off to."

Rosalie swung the saddle onto the animal's back, letting out a huff of air before beaming back at her counterpart. "I'm sorry…I just couldn't resist going out for a ride. I don't get to come here often enough." she confided, patting the horse affectionately.

"A Lusitano?" he asked, recognizing the features of the breed.

The young woman was impressed, "You know your horses."

"I own a few myself," Red commented, stepping into the stable, "Mostly Akhal-Teke racehorses."

The man puffed up proudly at the surprised admiration in the woman's gaze. "You are very lucky, those are absolutely spectacular creatures."

"He's spectacular." Red nodded at the buckskin.

The woman smiled fondly at the horse. "Don't say that too loudly, he's already got a terrible ego."

The pair chuckled as the animal tossed its regal head.

There was an awkward silence before Raymond spoke again. "Well," he said, finding no available excuse to stay in the barn bothering the woman, "I should leave you to your ride."

He turned to head back to the house, but before he could place a foot over the threshold, Rosalie called out to him.

"Would you join me?"

Red turned back, carefully searching her face, finding her expression genuine.

"I meant… would you like to? I have quite a few horses, and plenty of equipment. I mean, if you're busy, obviously go do what you need to do. But…" She ceased her babbling as Raymond's face broke into a warm, genuine smile.

"I would like that." his deep voice rumbled softly, "Very much."

Rosalie's cheeks flushed pleasantly, making her look down at her boots, a soft smile lighting her visage as she nibbled her bottom lip.

Her reaction pleased Red immensely. The blush of her cheeks, the coy glance, it was painfully adorable, making him want to revisit the decision he wouldn't pursue the woman. At that moment, it seemed like a terribly stupid, outdated notion.

Rosalie swapped out the saddle before gently taking his arm and guiding him down the line of stalls. She told Raymond the history behind each of the horses, what types of riding they were trained for, and how she acquired each of them.

The man listened intently as her gentle voice wove stories of rescues and retirees from a variety of scenarios.

There was a retired thoroughbred from the 1997 Kentucky Derby, a chestnut Arabian mare Rosalie had won in a bet, and even a pair of jet black Percherons which had been rescued from a traveling circus. The gigantic animals were even larger than the woman's buckskin, standing like two black phantoms in their stalls.

In the last space stood another Lusitano, this one a beautiful snowy white and grey dapple.

Rosalie led him to the stall, unhooking the latch. "This is Orquedia, she came to me along with her big beau over there. She nodded in the direction of the sooty buckskin waiting patiently in the isle.

"What is the beau's name?" Red asked, reaching out so the mare could sniff his hand.

"Matador, they're both retired from Madrid's mounted police force."

Orquedia leaned into the man's hand, content to let him pet her.

"I think she likes me." quipped Raymond smugly.

Rosalie rolled her eyes good-naturedly, clipping a lead to the horse's harness. "Of course she likes you, you're a notorious ladies man. I'm sure she couldn't resist your charms." The woman was teasing, but not by much. She knew better than anyone the man was a flirtatious thing.

Red smirked, taking the lead and following Rosalie into the isle a few feet behind the other horse.

He stroked the mare's nose gently as Rosalie stepped into the tack room, coming out with a bridle and breast collar in black leather. She slipped the bridle on and connected the straps of the breast collar before leading Raymond into the tack room. The woman grabbed a deep green saddle pad while he hoisted the black saddle into strong arms.

Once both horses were ready, they unhitched the pair and Red swung up into the saddle. He looked ahead at Rosalie's horse, noting the tack was smaller and looked to be side saddle.

Rosalie saw him staring questioningly at the piece of tack, letting out a small laugh. "Matador is trained for side saddle. You'll see why in a moment." Red watched as Rosalie's lithe form swung up into the saddle effortlessly, her right leg swinging back over the pummel. She and Matador trotted out of the barn first, turning about in the open drive, the gelding waiting on tenterhooks for his lady friend.

Red clicked the snowy dapple forward, the horse trotting gracefully out into the courtyard. The mare turned of her own accord, pulling up along Rosalie's right side.

The horses stood ear to ear, however the young innkeeper was still shorter than Raymond, and turned to look slightly up at him. Without giving her horse a command, the large buckskin sidled closer to the mare, bumping his side with hers.

The horse's bulk bumped against Raymond's leg, making him look down and chuckle.

"And that's why I'm riding side saddle." Rosalie explained with a tinkling laugh. "Matador likes to cozy up to her, and if I were sitting astride, you and I would be knocking boots all day."

Raymond grinned, waiting for the double entendre to register.

"Knees." Rosalie grimaced putting a hand over her eyes, "We would be knocking knees all day."

She glared at Raymond who let out a bellowing roar of laughter.

"My God, if I knew an entire day of boot-knocking was on the table, I would have insisted you sit astride." He teased merrily, enjoying the radiant blush flooding her cheeks.

Once recovered from her faux pas, Rosalie led them through one of the nearby pastures onto a quiet dirt lane bordered by tall hornbeams and thick rose bushes.

Their mounts walked side by side, Matador occasionally bumping against Orquedia, and by extension, Raymond. The man smirked whenever it happened.

"So, what happened between you and Castro?" Rosalie asked. She had been curious about the events which had brought them to the blacksite, waiting until they were truly alone to discuss the matter.

Red sighed, "It was meant to be a simple exchange of weapons and information, a common transaction. I thought the information Castro had regarding some small trade movement near the Belarus border might shine a light on who hired Patrick's killer."

"Did it?" The woman asked eagerly. Rosalie could tell by the twitch in Raymond's eye, the culprit walking away unchecked had been bothering him deeply.

The man shook his head, "I never found out. When we pulled up to the safehouse and Castr was already there… It was enough to convince me there was something else going on. Once he opened up about his true intentions, calling you for a blacksite was the only option."

Rosalie was bothered by this information. "How did he find you?"

Red tilted his head back and forth. "We think we were followed one night. Dembe had mentioned something glinting in the rear-view mirror. I didn't think anything of it, but now I wonder if it wasn't a car tailing us with its lights off."

The young innkeeper pursed her lips, concerned at the ease with which the men were found. "That's unnerving. I'll need to locate a more discreet option for Havana. Perhaps a blacksite."

Raymond turned his head, seeing the woman's brow furrowed in concentration, mentally calculating all the weak points of the Havana safehouse.

He nudged his horse towards hers, keeping close as they continued their walk. "Your location was fine. As you said, the network is impregnable as long as it's accessed properly."

Her scowl lessened slightly, "Still, I'm concerned you were able to be found in the first place. Having a blacksite there couldn't hurt."

"No, it certainly wouldn't." He agreed, bowing to her logic.

"What were Castro's true intentions?"

Raymond's eyes narrowed into the distance. "He wanted me to help facilitate a deal which I found unpalatable."

Rosalie turned to look at him in shock. She and Raymond were both criminals, certainly, but this didn't mean they were completely without morals. In reality, they both operated under their own set of ethics so to speak. Rosalie was terribly curious what Castro had wanted which had so obviously clashed with Raymond's code.

"What was the purpose of the deal?"

Red's lip curled in distaste. "A nasty security measure to locate Cuban citizens who have been in exile and have them killed. He's been worried about another Bay of Pigs altercation. Obviously, he still holds a deep-seated grudge with the United States."

The young woman grimaced, "Why on earth would he think you'd be interested in such a thing? Murdering hundreds of thousands of civilians simply because they left a failing country on the brink of famine? Honestly, it would be more likely you'd be supplying the boats to get them off the island." Rosalie hit her stride, not noticing the soft grin lighting Raymond's features.

"It's always baffling how the lower sect of criminals, the 'warlords', dictators, and their ilk, have no concept of logic. We're criminals, not savages. There at least needs to be a grain of sense in our dealings, even if we operate beyond the lines of legality. Running at problems like bulls in a china shop, taking up boy soldiers as a substitute for garnering genuine loyalty, none of that garbage creates the stable empires they're so desperately trying to construct. What a bunch of imbeciles."

Red laughed aloud, thoroughly enjoying her disgruntled tirade. "Well I'm glad at least you see the truth of the matter."

"What do you mean?" She asked, nonplussed.

"All that will be said, should my meetings with Castro see the light of day, is 'Infamous Traitor Raymond Reddington Conspires with Cold War Dictator.'" His tone was nonchalant, but Rosalie could hear the irritation lying underneath.

She had wondered about Raymond's highly publicized treason since the beginning of their arrangement. Having been with him nearly every day for the past nine months, she could honestly say she found the whole matter rather fishy. Raymond just didn't seem the type.

Rosalie had dealt with many a traitor, it was simply unavoidable in her line of work. Covert intelligence peddlers, disavowed rebels, whistle-blowers and their comrades always seemed to find her doorstep. Some were loathsome creatures, buying into her network as a haven from rightful prosecution. They were often miraculously discovered before they reached the safehouse. Others were simply running from a corrupt system which destroyed their innocence, desolated their families, and burned their communities to the ground. And yet they were the ones who were called deserters, terrorists, or worse. Those were the ones for whom Rosalie provided safe harbour.

"Did you do it?" Her tone belied her speculation over the matter.

Raymond turned to placidly meet her eyes, "What do you think?"

"I think you don't strike me as a traitor." She stated honestly, her brow furrowing. "Yet you also don't strike me as an American. You seem to be about as American as I am."

Red's hazel eyes watched her intently, trying to discern her thoughts.

She quirked a brow knowingly at him, intimating she had guessed a few things about his past.

Rather than feeling the usual sense of fear and suspicion, Raymond found himself feeling a tiny flicker of relief. It was only speculation on her part, and oddly enough, even if she had miraculously guessed it all, the man knew she wouldn't say a word.

There was an underlying trust between them, almost as implicit as the trust he held in Dembe, which told him she would hold such a secret in utmost confidence. An unspoken understanding passed between them as they eyed each other cautiously.

Rosalie had her suspicions, but she wasn't going to pester him for the truth because it didn't matter. She simply wanted him to know, should the truth out, should he need help, she would be there. The thought made Red's chest thrum with an old familiar emotion. It squeezed at him, pressing him to see her in a new light.

He hadn't told anyone the truth about his life since the day he had taken in Dembe. The young boy, broken and afraid, had offered Raymond a unique kind of camaraderie in that moment.

Dembe shared with him an understanding of what it was like to have been someone else entirely before having the darkest pieces of humanity thrust upon you.

That discussion had been the beginning of their incredible friendship. Much to Red's surprise, Rosalie's eyes now held the same warmth, the same understanding as Dembe's had.

Raymond cleared his throat, answering her previous question. "Being on the run for years tends to give one certain qualities of ambiguity. It suits me well not to strike anyone as any particular nationality."

Rosalie smirked at the certainly reasonable explanation, noting how it effectively diverted the conversation toward safer waters.

"The story of my treachery was spread far and wide by an organization called The Cabal." Raymond explained, allowing her a small glimpse into the murky depths of his past.

"Do you think this Cabal is responsible for Patrick's death?" She asked, careful not to pry too far.

Red shook his head confidently. "No. They wouldn't risk retribution over someone like Patrick. I told them I have something which could expose them all, so they've left me alone these past nine years."

"Do you have something which could expose them?" she questioned in surprise.

"Not in my possession." His words were chosen carefully.

Rosalie wasn't fooled. "You have an idea of where it is, surely."

"Yes," agreed Raymond, "An idea, but extracting the information is not an option."

Keen grey eyes eyed him carefully. "You're protecting what holds the information."

"Yes."

The woman nodded, halting any further questions. Truthfully, she didn't need to know. Rosalie could empathize with Raymond's desire for secrecy. She held the truth of her own past most covetously, not wanting anyone to discover who she was.

"I would hope this goes without saying, but should you ever need my assistance in any of it, Raymond, my network and I are at your disposal. You need only ask."

A friendly smile passed her lips as she clicked the horse into a canter, allowing the gelding to stretch his long legs and giving Raymond a reprieve from the rather intense conversation.

Raymond let out a relieved sigh, looking thoughtfully at the woman before taking off after her.

After returning from their morning ride, Raymond and Rosalie set the two Lusitanos loose in the pasture near the house. The pair seemed quite content after their vigorous exercise, trotting alongside each other around the fence's perimeter.

Rosalie had challenged Red to a race up the drive to the main house. He had accepted with a competitive grin, and as they turned the last curve onto the drive, the pair had taken great joy in letting their steeds run with it. Matador and Orquedia seemed to know there were stakes involved, their long legs taking to the task with incredible speed.

Dembe and Horace had been standing stoically on the front porch, ready to chastise them for running off without security again. The pair were thoroughly showered in gravel as the two fugitives came hurtling past, laughing like mad.

Two Days Later

Life at the blacksite was actually quite enjoyable. It was almost as if they had all instantaneously retired.

Raymond and Rosalie ran their business from the massive partner's desk in the office, now littered with files and paperwork organized by a system only the two of them could comprehend. Though they were kept from physically attending to their respective dealings, quite a lot seemed to get done in a short amount of time.

Rosalie located a prospective blacksite in Havana and had signed the papers for the purchase of another somewhere in New England.

Raymond managed to secure the weapons which had been left at the house in Havana, and completely derailed a massive deal of Castro's with the same group of Bosnians who had sold Red the warehouse in Bulgaria.

The man had thoroughly enjoyed orchestrating the bit of skullduggery in the dead of night with a certain innkeeper cradled against his chest. The woman lay there giggling as she listened in on every word.

Rosalie had not taken kindly to Castro's treatment of him, and had been thrilled at hearing Raymond's plot for retribution.

She had also been all too willing to supply a devious addendum to add insult to injury.

While Red turned the Bosnians against the deal, his little hellcat secured safe passage for them out of Cuba with not only the weapons in tow, but several cases of cigars from Castro's own collection.

Her feminine figure was sprawled on the bed beside him, rotated so her slender legs crossed vertically against the headboard. She looked much like she had that night at The Cherry, sinfully relaxed as she twitched the strings of her dastardly plan.

Raymond watched her avidly in the dark, listening as she conversed in rapid Spanish with several disgruntled maids and a valet, all of whom took the woman up on her offer of transport from the country in exchange for pilfering the cigars.

She certainly was a wily thing.

Should Raymond ever somehow forget Rosalie was a bona fide criminal, he need only look back on that night. The woman had made a clear, calculating move. She didn't go for Castro's money, his homes, or his cars.

She went straight for the jugular and nicked the man's hand-rolled Cohibas.

A mischievous laugh warmed the room as Raymond ran a tickling hand up the smooth skin of her leg.

Rosalie pursed her lips as the man's fingertips started at her ankle and trickled down the elevated appendage to her thigh. She lost her train of thought seeing the clever eyes of Raymond Reddington looking at her like she was something to eat.

It seemed her criminal antics had unknowingly stoked the fire.

Rosalie pulled the phone away from her mouth as he reached to thumb her chin. A man could get himself into a lot of trouble teasing at her like that. She leaned forward and nipped the digit playfully, drawing him out of his haze.

Raymond pulled back his hand with a laugh and pinched her thigh in retaliation.

The young woman rolled her eyes, merrily swatting at his hand and carrying on her conversation as though nothing was amiss.

The following morning, the sound of Dembe making his way down the hall carried into the bedroom, waking Raymond who was pressed tightly against Rosalie.

They had turned in the night so Raymond was wrapped protectively around her. The position was comfortable and intimate, with the entirety of Rosalie's pert backside nestled against Red's pelvis. The man's fingers twitched against her soft skin, having snuck up the silk top to feel the gentle thrum of her heartbeat against her ribcage.

Red was loathe for either of them to leave the bed today. Having the warm woman cradled against him like this was a circumstance which he felt warranted his undivided attention.

Waves of honey blonde tresses shone in the early morning light beside him, grazing Raymond's cheek as the tip of his nose traced the woman's collarbone. He reached with the arm pinned beneath the pillows and tucked a few stray strands behind her ear, exposing more of her neck to his exploration.

The movement must have tickled, though, as Rosalie squirmed a bit before nestling back into his embrace.

Her wiggling caused the curve of her backside to accidentally nudge Red's hips.

The little minx wasn't wearing a damn thing beneath her shorts, and the man's breath hitched audibly when he felt his morning erection slide along the silk covered crevice between her cheeks.

A hungry growl rolled through Raymond's chest as Rosalie mewed and rocked her hips backward into the hard bulge again. Her brows knit together in concentration as she continued rubbing against him in her sleep.

The action made Red chuckle even as he hissed through gritted teeth. This was unexpected.

She was a determined little thing, dragging her peachy backside along his rigid flesh without mercy.

"Christ, woman." He grunted against her neck, his heavy cock straining at the stimulation. Frissons of pleasure compelled Raymond to buck his hips against her in search of more.

The thrust eased a breathy sigh from Rosalie's lips, a triumphant smile appearing as she bit her bottom lip.

The adorably mischievous expression was his undoing.

Raymond pulled his hand from her shirt and grasped the hips which had been tormenting him.

A pout replaced Rosalie's smile, and a whine of annoyance issued from her throat as she pushed back in search of him.

"As much as I would love for you to continue accosting my person," he placated in her ear, "We need to stop."

Rosalie grumbled, wiggling her backside into his lap, insolently indicating she would rather resume her previous pleasurable pursuits.

The renewed stimulation made Red's pelvis rock hard into hers, teasing a small moan from her lips. Raymond's large hand grasped her hips again as he scrambled to regain control.

"Dembe has been up for approximately nine minutes. Which means we have all of one minute to get you out of this bed and into a less compromising position."

"Hmm… let them find out." She mumbled sleepily, "Then we can do this every night."

Raymond relinquished his hold with a discontented sigh. "You are a terrible little tease." He groused, rolling to lay on his back, away from the tantalizing curve of her derrière.

Rosalie sat up, dozily stretching and letting out an impish giggle before her breath caught in her throat.

Raymond popped open a bleary eye, wondering what had halted her humour.

The little deviant was staring rather lasciviously at the bulge situated between his legs. The fabric of the bed's blankets covered Red from the waist down, tenting at the spot where her eyes were glued.

"Rosalie…" the man warned, the look in her eyes stoking the flame of lust her actions had already ignited.

Her head turned slowly toward him, a small 'o' of intrigue parting her pink lips. The expression was terribly endearing, but what it did to the man she was eyeing…he had difficulty putting into words.

"...Hmm?" Rosalie asked vacantly, blinking those pools of liquid metal at him. She was completely lost as to what she was supposed to be doing.

"Get out of my bed before I decide to tie you to it." Red growled darkly, looking to shock her out of her dazed state. Imagine his delighted agony when her entire body flushed scarlet and she lifted a lone eyebrow, not budging an inch. The expression looked an awful lot like a challenge, making the man's mind burn with intense curiosity.

Raymond and Rosalie had spoken at length about the merits and philosophies behind sex and all things taboo on their nights out. In truth, they enjoyed the topic immensely. Raymond remembered one night in Rome particularly vividly.

They had strolled about the bright, bustling piazzas until the wee hours of the morning discussing books like Histoire d'O and Delta of Venus. However, the man realized they hadn't stopped their philosophical discussion to expound upon their own experiences, a most grievous oversight on his part.

Most unfortunately, they didn't have time to discuss the topic right now. Raymond made a mental note to return to the conversation later. When they were quite alone. When he could listen to every vivid detail.

"Rosalie-"

"I'm thinking." She insisted, her eyes glinting with suppressed amusement.

He reiterated, "Horace is going to catch you sneaking out of this room in thirty seconds."

Rosalie's face dropped comically. "Damn" she hissed, leaping out of the bed and scurrying across the room amid Raymond's deep, throaty chuckle.

The man fell back into the sheets with a weary sigh, willing his throbbing erection to go down while he listened to the woman's small feet pattering down the hall.

A quickly stifled squeak of surprise and a deep, smooth laugh told him she had run into Dembe. The thought made Red laugh anew, picturing the knowing grin the young bodyguard was undoubtedly flashing her.

They had been cutting it fine, indeed, if she was encountering Dembe on her way back to her room. Red turned to his side, pulling one of the pillows to his torso. The delicate scent of the feminine creature previously occupying the pillow filled his mind with a warm haze. They really ought to sleep in their own beds. The thought flitted out of his mind just as quickly as it had entered.

Sleeping ensconced together after the Munich debacle seemed to have opened a door to temptation they weren't easily able to close. The continued proximity and affection naturally guided them toward acting on their desires, and it was getting harder and harder to resist.

It certainly didn't help the two seemed to be pseudo-masochists about it either. They developed a terrible habit of getting as close to breaking their self-imposed rules as they dared before reality reared its ugly head.

Though they couldn't cross that line, they were having a terribly good time toeing it.

The morning's activities were a stellar example of the pair momentarily and spectacularly losing their grip. If Horace hadn't been an immediate issue, Raymond knew without question he wouldn't have stopped Rosalie's pursuits. Truthfully, left unchecked, he would have enjoyed taking their explorations much further.

This thought did nothing to ease the ache in his groin, the appendage standing resolutely out in front of him as he got out of bed. Red huffed and headed for the master bath, intent on taking the matter in hand before he could accidentally encounter the little creature responsible for it.

Two days later

Their time at the safehouse was drawing all too quickly to an end. The issue with Castro was safely diffused, and their next location secured and waiting. Edward would be arriving the following day to take them back to reality.

Raymond and Rosalie were rather put out, truth told. Both had immensely enjoyed the freedom and quiet the home had offered.

The afternoon before their departure, the pair decided to take a long walk along the path where they had ridden that morning, as had become their custom over the weeklong furlough.

Raymond regaled story after story, weaving tales of the wild heists conducted in his early days as a criminal. Rosalie's tinkling laugh echoed along the lane as he told her a particularly enthralling story about getting gored in the backside by a wild pig in the Forest of Dean.

"There's going to be a storm," she sighed morosely, "We'll have to head inside soon."

Raymond grasped her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. "Just a little while longer, the clouds aren't moving too fast."

The young woman' eyes glanced at the dark clouds in the distance. "I predict there will be one clap of thunder followed by a torrential downpour."

Red chuckled, shaking his head. "Come now, my dear, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Oh I have no intention of squashing our fun." She tittered, patting his arm fondly. "I just hope you know we'll be getting soaked in about five minutes."

The pair continued their leisurely stroll, grossly unconcerned about the ominous clouds encroaching with each step.

As they turned onto the long driveway leading up to the house, Raymond's eyes squinted thoughtfully up at the live oak trees bordering the lane. "The world's oldest commissioned naval vessel still afloat is made of southern live oak. A three masted heavy frigate from the War of 1812. Her hull was so strong 18 pound cast iron cannon balls would bounce off like they were made of rubber."

Rosalie nodded, smiling. "'Old Ironsides' they called her."

Red let out an amused chuckle, "God, what a nickname."

A thundering boom echoed across the property shrouding the sky in dense, almost black clouds. The storm had descended upon them.

The pair looked up as raindrops began to fall, slowly at first, then building to a torrential downpour.

Rosalie laughed, impishly waggling her eyebrows in victory as her prediction came true.

Rather than hurry themselves along, the two continued their leisurely stroll up the drive, laughing as their clothes became drenched.

When they had made halfway up the drive, Rosalie turned, reaching up to swipe a few raindrops form the rim of Raymond's fedora. She was soaked to the skin but the sound of his voice as he relived the tall tale had left her burning. Her grey eyes danced with mischief as she tugged him beneath the branches of one of the live oaks. The trunk was more than wide enough to hide them from sight, and the massive branch above gave them shelter from the downpour.

Red watched with heated intrigue as her gaze darkened.

Rosalie turned, pinning him against the tree and pressing her mouth to his.

Her soft, sweet lips caressed him with the same burning electricity that they had in New York. This time, however, the woman leaned in, deepening the contact.

The move took Red by surprise, but he found himself readily acquiescing to her every whim. His lips moved to meet hers, wanting more of what she was offering.

Rosalie nipped him playfully, drawing a grunt of approval from her partner's throat. The sound fuelled the fire pooling in her belly as she pressed herself closer to his warmth.

Raymond responded in kind, snaking his arms around her and pulling her tightly to him. One hand penetrated her top, splaying across the small of her back while the other threaded a finger through the belt loop at her hip, allowing a broad thumb to tease the skin exposed by his wandering.

The light brushes of his thumb and the heavy weight of his hand on her back had Rosalie practically purring with contentment. Her own hands had wriggled the top buttons of his shirt open, glad he had forgone his usual tie. One hand was happily exploring the wealth of downy chest hair there while the other teased his neck and scalp with featherlight touches. The combination gave him goosebumps as her mouth continued devouring his hungrily.

Each was delightedly learning what pleased the other, using the noises issuing from them as a guide. Every whimper and moan lead them to new and exciting discoveries. Rosalie found little nips drove the man wild while Raymond discovered suckling her bottom lip just right made the woman's knees quake.

Raymond reached to cup her cheek, holding her to his pleasure as his arm tightened around the little waist pressed against him. His burning tongue swiped at her kiss-swollen lips, demanding to taste her.

Rosalie complied with a needy mew, her hands gripping his chest tightly as she opened to him.

Captivated by the woman's response, Red wasted no time in plundering her hot little mouth with fervour. The talented appendage explored her depths, stopping to tangle with the tiny tongue he had discovered within.

The relentless seduction had Rosalie quivering in Red's grasp, enticing him to tease her further.

Red felt the ache which had been building between them since New Year's ease ever so slightly.

They had needed this. The desire to touch and be touched had been permeating their every waking moment, making the past few months a special brand of delicious torture. Finally feeling her delectable curves pressed intimately against him, finally getting to taste that sweet little mouth, it calmed something in Raymond that had been burning since that night.

His tongue slid past her lips rhythmically, mimicking the slow, gentle thrusts of lovemaking. The sensual action pulled a tremulous whine from the woman that shot straight to Raymond's pelvis. A deep groan of arousal issued from him, sending a tickling vibration through their lips.

Though Rosalie's devious little tongue had happily taken his ravishing, the minute muscle soon became demanding, battling Raymond back so she could taste him too.

Red allowed it with a feverish moan of approval.

Rosalie explored his mouth languidly, taking her time in learning him. Her hot little tongue stroked and massaged every scorching corner of him until he shivered in delight.

Raymond had found most women preferred him to be the dominant one when engaging in intimacy, which was truthfully, quite enjoyable. However, it was always thrilling to encounter a woman that also enjoyed taking the reins. Such a woman was infinitely more attractive, infinitely more intriguing, and so damn arousing, it made the man's cock twitch.

A greedy whimper escaped Rosalie's throat as she felt the thick shaft flex against her hip. The sensation bringing the walls of her resolve crashing down.

Her responsiveness touched Raymond to his core. It told him what he had been feeling since that night in New York, she had been feeling too.

Rosalie had needed this, needed him, as much as he needed her.

The low, rumbling noises of arousal that vibrated from his torso made her body ache, a slick, wet heat pooling between her thighs.

The kiss bared her to Raymond. The little pink tongue whispered the truth to her would-be lover, telling him what kind of lover she could be.

Rosalie would submit and bend to his desires. Oh yes. She could be a sweet little darling when the mood struck, but she wasn't one-sided.

Raymond had learned by now how multi-faceted the woman was. She could give as well as take. Rosalie would defy him and demand what she wanted. The little minx would seduce him into submitting too, until he was readily bending to her desires in their quest for mutual pleasure. With Rosalie, Raymond would enjoy all the delights duality could offer.

The very thought had the man palming her backside, bringing her hips to press harder against his rigid length.

Another deafening boom of thunder shook the air around them, jostling the pair from their heated exploration.

Raymond took deep, steadying breaths as he looked down at the woman encased in his arms. Her pupils were blown wide and her breasts heaved against him as she shivered. It was an enticing picture that shook the man to his core.

A soft smile tugged at Rosalie's kiss-swollen lips, enjoying the disheveled state Raymond was in. She thought he looked terribly handsome, soaking wet and tousle-haired.

The storm continued through dinner, where Raymond and Rosalie couldn't help but be distracted. They were repeatedly caught looking at one another in something akin to surprise. Neither was certain where they stood after their mutual resolve had snapped so spectacularly earlier.

Once they had regained their composure, the pair had stridden into the house in search of a hot shower and dry clothes.

Horace and Dembe were more than a little suspicious at their sodden and unusually quiet state, but seemed to have opted for quiet observation rather than direct questioning.

Dinner passed quietly, and once the plates were cleared, the house's occupants separated to finish packing their belongings.

Not ready to face Raymond quite yet, Rosalie stepped out onto the sprawling porch, a glass of gin in hand.

The men in the house had no knowledge of the significance of the home.

The woman's slender fingers reached out to touch the white wooden porch swing. Her fingertips traced lovingly along its frame, remembering every notch and detail.

The swing had been there for as long as Rosalie could remember, back when she was a little girl; when she was someone else entirely.

Her parents had sat on this very swing with her as the summer storms would roll in, creating a warm, loving cocoon around their daughter.

Rosalie loved the storms for this very reason.

The roll of thunder, the pounding of rain and hail as the world was torn asunder outside, it felt like home.

Perhaps that was why she was so adept at being a criminal.

She could revel even in the darkest storms.

Red waited half an hour before going in search of Rosalie.

Rolling up the sleeves of his button down, he took the staircase two at a time.

She hadn't come to his room, and to his surprise, she wasn't in hers either, nor was she in the office. As the man walked through the first floor, he noticed the front doors of the house were still open wide.

Raymond stepped out onto the porch, seeing the small form curled up in the large swing.

Flashes of lightning lit the night periodically, casting a white and blue glow over the property before sending thunder through the air like cannon fire.

The young woman was asleep, a soft smile on her lips.

Red watched her for a moment as she slept soundly, the storm still raging on.

The deafening sounds didn't bother her in the slightest.

The man chuckled softly, thinking it the very manifestation of her true nature.

She was the calm in the storm. The peace below the winds.

Raymond bent down and gently scooped the feminine form into his strong arms.

He walked quietly into the house, nodding at Dembe, who moved to close the front doors. Without a word, the older man carried his counterpart up the large staircase to the second floor.

Rosalie stirred as he reached the landing, her eyes lifted to search his features.

His expression was calm, warm and affectionate as he looked down at her.

She reached a hand up to stroke the stubble on his cheek.

The man's mouth twitched at the corner as he sauntered down the hall, brushing his nose teasingly against hers.


	13. Back in the Swing

Lazuli Safehouse - Port of Spain, Trinidad & Tobago - June 28th, 1999

Rosalie stood in the lounge of her high-rise in Port of Spain with her back to the seating area. The slate eyes scowled at the opposite wall, determined to make sense of the jumbled puzzle before her.

A room divider made of glass panels and dark metal was being utilized for her musings; its surfaces now held a timeline of surveillance photos, receipts, and various other scraps of information.

Reddington had lost another associate in June, and though the loss was a lesser blow than Patrick, it had still rattled their quartet.

The assassin was quickly tracked down and disposed of, citing the same tale Altan had in Munich. As Brimley had put it, the transaction was cleaner than Mrs. Howzer's blackboard on a Monday morning.

The lack of headway on the perpetrator had Raymond seething for the past two weeks.

Rosalie, determined to find the hole in their boat, had taken their stockpile of intel and sequestered herself in the lounge.

In the almost eleven months since their partnership began, she had lost four homes in four rather prominent locations.

The safehouse in Havana and the condo in São Paulo had been disposed of, she also sold the safehouse Altan had chartered in Munich as well as the Liberty safehouse in D.C. for the sake of caution. Though São Paulo was replaced before the end of last year and Munich followed shortly thereafter, the blacksite in Havana was still under construction, and D.C. had just sold in a black market sale.

Three of the four homes were burnt due to their unseen adversary.

Replacing homes was an expensive and time-consuming endeavour which Rosalie admitted she did not enjoy. In actuality, it was one of the most risky aspects of her business.

Her organization's initial contact with the sellers of these locations was the only time in which Rosalie could be linked to the property. It was paramount to her safety and the well-being of the network that this connection never see the light of day. For this, the young woman trusted in her accountant, Luli Zeng.

Rosalie's faith in Luli was unshakeable.

They had met in college several years ago and had grown quite close, having shared a dorm room and eventually an apartment in the four years they had spent at Stanford. They were cut from the same cloth in many ways, and over the years Rosalie grew to consider the woman her nearest and dearest friend.

Luli had taken the traditional finance route, and was succeeding at every turn in her position with SAL Capital. However, she had confessed a few years prior that she found the work lacklustre. Luli knew what her old friend was up to, and propositioned her as a shadow financier.

Rosalie took her up on the offer immediately, confident the woman would be a trustworthy and invaluable asset.

Luli succeeded in building a maze of shell corporations around Rosalie's empire, a protective financial barrier that made Rosalie's movements impossible to track.

This left Rosalie free to focus on accumulating locations for the network, as well as garnering a web of loyal associates and clients to keep the show running. The system was fine-tuned and fortified over the past four years. Rosalie structured the network in a way which could function from the shadows in perpetuity, barring any unprecedented massacres.

The young woman made a mental note to call her friend that night. She was certain Lu was not the issue, but she might have knowledge of potential weak spots.

Raymond stepped into the room, watching the frustrated woman scowl at the photographs. Her arms were crossed, and she tapped the end of a pen irritably against her lips as her mind whirred in the background.

"I'm missing something." She grumbled, noticing the man's presence. "We're missing something, I can feel it."

He tried to soothe her frustrations, "Rosalie, I keep a running tally of every person I've ever swindled, every player whose boat I've rocked, everyone I've ever wronged. Not one of them looks to be the one responsible."

"How can you be sure?" She sighed, tilting her head to see if the information made more sense when viewed at an angle.

Red stared fixedly at the board. "My people always follow through." He intoned evasively.

The young woman turned to look at him, understanding the truth behind the phrase. "You're having them watched? All of them?"

He nodded minutely. "My enemies, their families, their friends, I know their each and every move. It's been critical to my success."

"And none of them have drawn suspicion?" She asked, a modicum of disbelief creeping into her voice.

The man sing-songed his head, "No more than usual."

"There must be something we're missing…"

Rosalie's mouth moved wordlessly as she muttered to herself, too focused on the board to finish her thought or meet Raymond's eyes.

If she had, she would have found a most peculiar look on his face.

Red had noticed Rosalie's restlessness these past few weeks. She was not used to bringing her criminal prowess to the fore and coming up empty handed.

Raymond understood now, she was feeling just as attacked as he was.

"Perhaps it's not an enemy?" She continued, "Do any of your direct competitors have the ability or desire to challenge you in such a way?"

"Oh there's always the desire to challenge." Red shook his head, more than a few individuals coming to mind. "Unfortunately, there isn't a single one with the money or influence to keep this quiet."

"What do you mean?"

Raymond turned to meet her gaze. "It's easy to buy someone's head. It's even easier to purchase information. The test of a criminal empire like mine, like the one undoubtedly chasing us, is how well kept its secrets are. Its weak points, Rosalie. Those take money and influence to hide." They both grimaced at the photos of Patrick's crime scene. "Whomever is behind this has big secrets, a wealth of influence, and even deeper pockets."

A knock sounded at the entrance and the man heaved a disgruntled sigh, shaking his head and prodding his tongue into his cheek.

Rosalie dropped her hand to squeeze his before calling for the individual to enter.

Dembe strode in with a burner held aloft. "Raymond, it's Stratos."

Red took the phone. "Yeah."

The suave voice of Stratos Sarantos, Raymond's head of Mediterranean shipping operations, echoed through the connection. "Raymond! I have good news."

"That makes one of us." Red groused, watching as Rosalie made a request of Dembe before turning back to the board and shifting some of the pieces about.

"Don't sound so sullen," Stratos advised his friend, "Your little rum-runner through Corfu worked like a charm. The shipment was early, the payment is in, and I scored us a little lagniappe ."

Raymond's mouth twitched reluctantly. "If it has anything to do with Vienna, you're on your own."

Rosalie sniggered indelicately, recalling the tale of Stratos and a devious young woman in Vienna. It involved his pants being unceremoniously chucked out of a 13th floor balcony.

Red smirked at the chortling woman, bumping his shoulder playfully against hers. "Rosalie might join you, though."

The woman turned a scandalized glance his way, actually garnering a deep chuckle from the grump.

"It has nothing to do with that Austrian wasp," Stratos defended staunchly, "And if you aren't careful I'll take your little innkeeper and Dembe, and leave you behind."

"And what a relaxing time I'd have." He retorted, "Stop stalling, what prize did you acquire?"

Red could hear the excitement in the other man's voice as he divulged the unexpected treat.

"I've got the front row for Siena, July 2nd."

"Siena?" Raymond questioned, the date and location ringing a bell.

" Il Palio di Siena ." Confirmed Stratos, utterly beside himself.

Red roared with laughter, "How the hell did you manage that?"

"It's why you hire me," the man shrugged, "If I don't meet your expectations, I exceed them."

Both men chuckled at this, the inflated statement not entirely untrue.

"Come to Siena, Raymond, bring Dembe and your little sousourada. We'll bet, we'll bribe, we'll make a week of it."

Red looked at the little woman fretting over the intel and felt his stomach flip. She was so tense, so restless, chasing their invisible foe. They could both use a break, and she would look stunning in the Piazza del Campo under a golden sun.

When her nervous grey eyes swivelled to meet his, Red made an executive decision. Rotating to stand in front of her, he cupped her face and pulled her close, nuzzling her nose and cheeks until she giggled openly.

"Raymond, I didn't realize you had company." Stratos intoned lewdly, hearing the feminine sound through the connection.

The young woman quirked mischievous brows at him as he ran a finger across her plump pink lips.

"I'm going to enjoy taking your money." Red growled brazenly, grinning as Rosalie kissed his thumb, her tongue sneaking out to flick its tip playfully. "And so is my little innkeeper."

" Oh-Ho? " Stratos boomed with laughter, completely unaware of the rapidly heating tension on the other end of the line. "I'll leave you to count your chickens with your cheeky associate. Dembe will have my address."

"We'll see you in a few hours." Red agreed, ending the call and chucking the phone onto the couch before invading the woman's sphere once more.

"I take it we're going to Italy?" She smirked in amusement, wrapping her arms around his neck and allowing him to pull her close.

Raymond hummed pleasantly, stealing a heated kiss from her. It had been several days since he had been able to do so. His hot tongue took her mouth without preamble, teasing and stroking her till he heard a desperate little mew and felt Rosalie press tighter to him.

They had been sneaking moments like this since the week at Break Maiden. Every day, they attempted to find an increasingly elusive moment of privacy in which to scratch this particular itch. To add to their frustration, the past few safehouses had contained rather unhelpful layouts which had temporarily halted their late night wanderings.

The result was a pair of disgruntled criminals secretly engaging in heated necking sessions in every available corner of Rosalie's network.

They had crossed a line, they knew, but frankly neither one had the slightest desire to return to their pre-blacksite state.

Raymond pulled back with a smug smirk as the feminine features beamed coyly up at him.

"How would you like to come to the Palio?" He purred, already knowing what her answer would be.

"The Palio?" She gasped, "As in the bareback horse riding, bribery and lawlessness abound, Palio?"

Red chuckled, seeing her eyes alight with excitement. "The very same."

Rosalie caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her excitement evident. Just as suddenly, her face fell. "Raymond I don't have a location in Siena."

His large hand stroked the small of her back fondly, her distraught tone amusing him. "Not to worry, my dear. We're staying with Stratos, he has a home overlooking the Piazza del Campo."

The woman looked at her counterpart with unbridled delight. She had always wanted to see the running of the Palio.

Red hungrily watched the emotions lighting her face before patting her backside playfully. "Go. Pack." He instructed. "We're going to be wheels up in 20."

The command garnered Rosalie's full attention, kindling the flame in her belly. The little woman didn't need to be told twice, though she thought she might thoroughly enjoy his methods of persuasion. She leaned forward, kissing him once more. Her teeth nipped his bottom lip playfully, eliciting a grunt from the man before she pulled away.

Red felt his mood improve significantly as he watched her flounce across the apartment.

Dembe stood in the doorway, an impish grin lit his features.

"Oh shut up." Raymond grumbled.

_Red's Jet - Somewhere over Mauritania - June 28th, 1999_

"They already know you're part of Raymond's syndicate, they've already come for you once."

They were relaxing on the jet, en route to Siena when Horace decided to breach the topic of Reddington with Rosalie.

Dembe was conveniently sleeping in the seat behind her and Red was talking at length with an associate on the other side of the plane.

"What are you on about?" The woman asked, not even glancing up from her book.

"Reddington's newfound adversaries. Whoever they are, they already know of you, they've already taken a swipe at you."

"The car accident, you mean?" Rosalie thought back to that day. Raymond had gone after the culprits with a terrible vengeance.

His associates located the impounded vehicle, salvaging any evidence they could from the car's interior. They were stonewalled, however, when the body of the driver went mysteriously missing from the city morgue.

It was then that they realized whomever had attacked Rosalie's detail was not from Castro's syndicate. The perpetrator worked for the same person who ordered the hit on Patrick and attacked them at the warehouse in Munich.

The knowledge had infuriated Raymond, though Rosalie seemed to be supremely unconcerned about the matter.

"Well, I'm a criminal." She reasoned, "This was bound to happen at some point."

"Exactly," agreed Horace, "You're already connected to him. Whether you're in a romantic relationship or not, you're being pursued for your connection."

"What are you trying to say, Horace?"

"My point is, if you're already on the enemy's radar, why bother denying the attraction?"

Rosalie stopped reading, her eyes snapping up, wide and fearful.

"I don't want to be a liability."

Horace chuckled, "I hate to burst your bubble, but you're already a liability."

The woman's expression was indignant.

"I know my opinion on the matter has been fluctuating." Her bodyguard conceded, threading his fingers together and twiddling his thumbs.

"You mean you've been waffling spectacularly." Rosalie corrected with a stern though amused look. Her friend's advice on the matter of Raymond Reddington had been anything but consistent of late.

Horace snorted indelicately, nodding his agreement. "Yes I have. Though, to my defence, every time I turn around you two are doing something that changes my perception of your connection."

"How so?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"The way you handled him in Munich. Your response to him, how you carried yourself at his side." The man's beetle black eyes narrowed at the wall, remembering those days quite clearly. "The night you were shot… I saw the way he held you, the look on his face. That wasn't a man holding a business associate he'd known for less than nine months."

A deafening silence met his words.

"Rosalie, you didn't see him come off the plane at the blacksite." He glanced meaningfully at her, "He was furious and worried, and he needed to know you were alright. The man all but sprinted into the house and stood leaning against the bathroom door listening to you sing because it told him you were okay."

Rosalie sat in stunned silence, having been unaware of all of this until now.

"You might not want to be a liability, you might not want to be someone that could be used against him, but Rosie, you're already there. He's already there."

The man added, "And don't even try to tell me you wouldn't do the same for him. I saw the way you looked at him when you stepped out of the shower."

"Wait, you were snooping?" Rosalie hissed incredulously.

Horace conveniently ignored the accusation. "You're both at risk, it's the nature of the world you live in. Why not be together and be happy?"

Her dark eyes turned toward Raymond, the phone still held securely to his ear. A smile tugged at his lips and he winked playfully at her, making her insides squirm.

The woman gave him a small smile and turned back to her guard.

"Horace, what if something goes wrong?" Rosalie voiced her fear, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen in a romantic relationship between two fugitives.

"Then the two of you will meet it when it does." He stated simply. "The way you've met every challenge so far. You are formidable together, better together. I've known you for years now and I have never seen you so…"

"What?"

"Fulfilled." He explained, "Partnering with Reddington, it's changed you. For the first time, I think you're content. You're no longer chasing after your empire, you're living in it. You're sitting back and allowing this absolute titan you've created work on its own. It's damn impressive, and it's made all the better by working alongside Reddington's syndicate. It's like you and your network were made for it."

Made for him .

Horace allowed the implication to hang in the air.

Rosalie sat in shock. She and Raymond had spent the better part of a year trying to deny everything that was going on between them.

Now, to suddenly have the foundation of her argument pulled unceremoniously out from under her terrified the woman. She knew why she had been fighting her emotions, and it now seemed like a moot point.

Raymond had repeatedly said he couldn't put her in danger by being with her, but she was already in danger.

She was already in his enemy's sights. What did their caution and attempted protection matter now? Would it not be better for them to allow their connection, to face the rising tide as a united front?

The smouldering grey eyes swivelled back to her business partner, her thoughts teeming with curiosity.

What would it be like, being Raymond Reddington's lover?

Red looked up, feeling the attention of the woman he was becoming so attuned to. He was caught behind a pair of liquid metal orbs that heatedly held his gaze. The look pulled his entire focus toward her, silencing the noisy jet instantaneously.

Raymond wondered what he had done to garner such an amorous glance. He felt his body responding in kind, urging him to pitch the phone and take the little siren somewhere more private. His fingers tightened around the communications device as he watched her cross her legs. The movement left her upper thigh exposed beneath the table. The skirt she wore had wriggled up, leaving Raymond to ogle the expanse of creamy soft skin bisected by a dark garter strap.

The man's pulse hammered, sending red hot blood pounding through his veins as his mind ran wild with fantasies involving the minx across from him.

Rosalie watched him intently, her every nerve ending thrummed in delight as her antics drew his ardour out into the open.

_Stratos Sarantos's Villa - Piazza del Campo, Siena, Italy - June 29th, 1999_

They landed in Siena in the early hours of the following morning. The sedan provided by Stratos picked them up from the dark tarmac and carried them swiftly to the safehouse connecting to the Piazza del Campo, where Stratos was waiting to welcome them. Stratos was a tall man, reasonably broad and filled to the brim with boyish charm. His dark hair and olive skin spoke of his Mediterranean heritage, giving him a loping grace not unlike Horace.

Raymond hugged the man, slapping his back fondly before gesturing to his plus one. Rosalie beamed genially as she stepped out of the vehicle, reaching out and embracing the debonair Greek like an old friend.

"_Stratos_," she cooed, her tone teasing, "I've heard so very many stories."

"Not a word of them true." Stratos insisted, stooping to kiss the woman's cheeks. "Unless they sing the praises of my dancing skills and my ability to woo beautiful women." He waggled his eyebrows tauntingly at Reddington who chuckled and shook his head.

"Hmm…" Rosalie's eyes carried good-naturedly down to the other man's shoes, "I don't recall any particular accolades regarding your footwork, but I believe there was a rather, shall we say, charming incident with an Austrian honeypot named Anja. Tell me, did you ever get your pants back?"

Raymond and Dembe snorted with laughter at her quip, remembering the incident quite clearly.

They had both claimed credit for the tall tale, taking great enjoyment in regaling it with minor embellishments to entertain and amuse the young woman.

Stratos roared in delight, "Oh, these two _have_ been whispering terrible little lies in your ear, my dear. Come, we shall correct these silly notions." He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, walking her through the door and into the cool quiet of the apartment.

Red could hear Stratos's thick voice echoing in the foyer.

"Has anyone told you the story of Raymond getting bent over a $60,000 settee by Laurence Dechambou?"

The woman's eyes danced as she let out a tinkling laugh.

The amused little minx had the nerve to glance impishly back at Raymond, assuring him he would be explaining that little dalliance in vivid detail later.

The home was a bright, expansive apartment built in an old Tuscan fashion with a combination of stone and white-washed brick. The centuries-old beams took pride of place, vaulting the home's tall ceiling upward at a sharp angle. The enormous, arching windows overlooking the Piazza occupied most of the Northern wall and extended into the bedrooms as well.

Rosalie immediately fell in love with the place.

As she sat in the enormous window sill, watching the sun rise a luminous pink, the woman thought about her discussion with Horace. It had changed things for Rosalie, the woman realized with a jolt.

She was out of reasons to stay away from Raymond.

The thought was more than a little daunting. Truthfully, she didn't know how to proceed. Rosalie wasn't certain where the man stood, if he would agree with her change of opinion on the matter. Raymond had always intimated there were dangers lurking around him which he didn't want her exposed to, but Rosalie agreed with Horace, there was little to do about that now.

Would he see things in the same light? If so, what would that mean for them?

The woman's mind hurtled along, trying to find a path forward, completely unaware of the conversation occurring down the hall.

Dembe knocked on Raymond's door, stepping through when the older man opened it.

"There is something I believe you should know."

Red quirked an eyebrow at the young bodyguard, gesturing for him to sit. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dembe assured, "Simply something I overheard."

Raymond's clever eyes bored into Dembe's soulful ones, seeming to look right through him. "I knew you weren't sleeping on the plane."

"I dozed for a while, but you know I don't sleep well in the air." Replied Dembe. "Regardless, I woke up to a most interesting conversation between Rosalie and Horace."

The fugitive straightened slightly at the mention of the woman. "And?" He asked.

"What do you feel in regards to her?"

"I, well…" Red hesitated, "Does it matter what I feel for her?"

"Yes." Stated Dembe pointedly. "It matters a great deal."

"Dembe, what did you find out?" The man redirected, not wanting to utter the truth aloud.

The young bodyguard waited patiently, not one to be misled by the Raymond's usual tactics.

"I am attracted to her, certainly," admitted Red, "I care for her, deeply, more than I probably should."

"Horace knows." the younger man disclosed, "He has for some time now. He is of the opinion Rosalie is already in danger by name and by reputation. Our enemies know of her and know she has a place in your syndicate."

This wasn't news to Raymond, the information had been bothering him ever since he learned who had attempted to take out Rosalie and her guards. "And?"

"Horace asked Rosalie why she was not pursuing you. The answer was illuminating."

"Are you going to illuminate me on her reasons?" Asked Red, dreading the answer.

"No." Said Dembe, stalwartly, "You are going to ask her yourself."

"Why on earth would I do that?" Raymond blurted, thinking it was the last thing he planned on doing.

"Because you need to hear it from her. You of all people need to hear those words from her. Her reason for denying your connection will mean much more, and I believe it just might change your opinion on the matter." Dembe smiled and stood, patting Raymond on the shoulder before striding quietly from the room.

Raymond stood, staring with brows furrowed in confusion as his guard left him with that enigmatic statement.

Their group ventured out a few hours later for the beginning of the Palio festivities. The Palio itself wouldn't be run for another three days, but the horses would be chosen and assigned to their respective contrade that morning.

They lined up in their seats after breakfast to watch the "tratta", the trials which would determine which horses were allowed to run.

Rosalie watched in fascination as heat after heat of trial runs were made with horses of every color taking to the track. She listened intently as Stratos explained the finer nuances of the race with periodic input from Dembe and Raymond. The Palio was a terribly interesting concept, the corruption and boisterous antics that lingered behind the event made the whole affair a point of intrigue for their little band of criminals.

As the captains of the contrada arrived to select which ten horses would race, a friend of Stratos came lumbering exuberantly toward them. The boyish, portly man boomed at him in greeting.

"Stratos! You came, my friend!"

Stratos stood and embraced the bellowing Sienese man, carrying on in animated Italian.

The men turned toward the rest of the group, laughing and shouting raucously. "Everyone, this is my dear friend Jacopo Marangoni! Jacopo, this is Raymond Reddington, his business partner Rosalie Øllegaard, Red's associate Dembe Zuma, and Rosalie's associate, Horace Asim Jabare."

Jacopo made his rounds through the group, fretting them fondly and making sure to kiss the young woman's cheeks twice.

Rosalie looked like a little bohemian in her long, flowing sundress and Panama hat with its sharp black band. The dress had a deep split in one side, allowing Red an unrivaled view of her legs as she stood chatting in lilting Italian with Jacopo.

The man roared his delight, the rotund figure wobbling merrily as he listened to the little slip of a woman.

As it turned out, Stratos's apartment was part of La Contrada Dell'Onda, of which Jacopo was the captain. It was Jacopo's role to see to the victory of his contrada or the failure of their rival, whichever he could manage.

"Oh, I love your contrada." Rosalie smiled, patting his arm, "The color of the sky and the strength of the sea ." She quoted affectionately.

The wily old Sienese took to the woman like a honeybee to a wildflower.

"But of course, La Contrada Capitana Dell'Onda attracts the beautiful women, they wear our colours and stand like blossoming beauties in the stands, cheering our horse to victory!" Jacopo's large, calloused hand reached out to pinch Rosalie's cheek fondly.

Stratos shook his head at the man's antics. "Jacopo, I thought Onda wasn't running in this race?"

"We are not." Agreed Jacopo, leaning into the center of the group. "We're not here to race, we're here to fuck with our enemies."

The members of Jacopo's contrada cheered loudly, the rest of the group sniggered at his conviction and vulgarity.

Jacopo turned back to Rosalie, taking her hand and sitting in the front row. "Come my little dolcezza, I will tell you all there is to know about Il Palio ."

The afternoon passed in an enjoyable fashion.

Jacopo and his lieutenants from Onda were a loud but friendly crowd. There were many other people flitting in and out of their group, several business acquaintances in particular came to say hello and chat with Raymond as the day went on.

The man sat looking suave and carefree a little ways down the row from Rosalie. She glanced at him periodically, his relaxed yet powerful posture proving to be a distraction.

There weren't as many people in the stands, so he sat with one leg crossed over the other, leaning back on one elbow with his fingers thread together comfortably. The lightweight suit he wore was a pale beige, he had forgone the jacket and tie, leaving the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt popped. His sleeves were rolled up, giving him somewhat of a reprieve from the summer's heat. The brim of his fedora was pulled low, providing extra shade as he watched the contrade draw lots for their horses.

Rosalie had difficulty prying her eyes from his masculine form. The strong arms, with their dusting of light blonde hair had her mind wandering, recalling what it felt like to have them wrapped around her. She swore if she concentrated she could recall the feel of Red's heavy watch brushing against the small of her back. She wasn't sure if it was the heat or perhaps her libido, but Rosalie found the man looked more devilishly charming than usual.

As the day's festivities ended and the group headed for the cool sanctuary of the villa, Rosalie watched in fascination as the swarms of people parted when Red walked past. The man positively swaggered, never halting his smooth stride as they made their way through the streets. He turned back to her, winking fondly as Stratos, Horace, and Dembe carried on about the trials. Raymond moved to the side, making space between himself and Stratos so Rosalie could walk beside him.

Red kept his hand on the small of her back the entire way, guiding her gently through the home's large door upon their arrival.

They all separated for a small reprieve before dinner. The heat of the day had been exhausting.

Rosalie kicked off her sandals and lay sprawled on the bed, her ankles crossed and her feet resting atop the headboard. She decided to call Luli and discuss the work issues which had been plaguing her.

They had been talking for a while when Rosalie heard footsteps outside her room. She turned her head to see Raymond sliding quietly inside, closing the door behind him. The action made Rosalie smile softly, and the man met her eyes with a similarly pleased look.

He strode casually to the other side of the bed, toeing off his shoes before climbing in next to her.

"I'll deal with Tiberius, Lu, I need you to look for leaks in the canoe…"

Red stroked a hand down her leg, drawing her undivided attention.

"...Hmm? Oh. Yeah, sorry…" Rosalie had missed what she was saying. "...No, that's fine."

She managed to cast a very chastising glance Raymond's way, which only seemed to spur him on.

A devilish smirk passed his lips before he leaned down to insolently place a kiss to her left knee.

A shiver traversed Rosalie's warm skin as she attempted to end her conversation.

"Yes...Yes, Lu. I know." The woman on the other end wasn't taking the hint.

Red trailed a burning path along the back of her thighs, ending at the ticklish spot that marked the transition from her legs to her pert little backside.

The sensation had Rosalie squirming and stammering. "L-Lu I've got to go." She pleaded her case, eyes narrowing as a deep chuckle vibrated against her skin.

"I'm not going to mess about with Tiberius, Luli, If he doesn't want to play ball, I'll just buy the house out from under him." She growled irritably into the phone, "I need to go. We'll talk later."

Red was beside himself with mirth, having found a pastime which could so easily unravel his counterpart.

The heated grey orbs told him she was not pleased with his discovery, even as she arched into his touch.

She tossed the phone away from her, leveling him a stern gaze. "Unless you're prepared to take me here and now, I suggest you take those wandering hands and trek elsewhere."

"Or what?" he purred challengingly.

"I don't think you want to play this game with me, Raymond." Rosalie warned, giving him an out. She was fresh out of reasons to behave herself around him, and having him in her bed stroking her like that was not helping.

"Oh I think I do." He growled darkly.

Rosalie the criminal was an arousing little minx that made Red conveniently forget any and all honorable intent he may have started with.

She gave him fair warning, "I can be a terrible, merciless tease when prevailed upon. Are you certain you want to issue such a challenge with me?"

Raymond thought for a moment, his head resting on one of her shins, his left hand still carelessly caressing her thigh. "Yes." He decided, goosing the back of her knee. She pulled the appendage back with a squeak, rolling to sit upright.

"I accept your challenge." said Raymond placidly, standing up and adjusting his waistcoat.

"I suggest you pack your lunch, then, Raymond. It's going to be a long week."

"You seem convinced you're going to come out on top." noted Red, "Excellent. I enjoy a challenge."

"Someone's confident." She smirked, eyes narrowed in amusement.

"You'll find I'm always confident." He intoned leaning to kiss her cheek.

Rosalie turned, her lips brushing against his ear.

"I'm confident I'm going to have you climbing the walls." She purred, placing a cheeky little kiss to his jaw.

The group met up with Jacopo and his lieutenants shortly thereafter for dinner. They went to a bustling local's spot in Onda, where several spectacularly large tables had been setup right in the middle of the street.

Excellent food and wine abounded, lubricating the night for a boisterous and enjoyable party.

Italians, particularly those in the area surrounding Siena, tended to gravitate towards people with an ambiguous moral compass. Raymond and Rosalie, with their naturally devious natures, fit right in. The pair were quickly placing under the table bets and doling out bribes for the sake of their chosen contrada. Naturally, they had chosen different contrade to spice up the stakes.

Their innocent little competition quickly turned underhanded, as Raymond's contrada, Oca, secured a promising jockey who had already won the Palio multiple times.

Rosalie had bet on the "Nonna" to be cheeky. The Nonna was a nickname given to the contrada which hadn't won the Palio in several years. Civetta, the current Nonna, hadn't won since 1985.

Jacopo was betting, trading, and undermining like a pickpocketing bandit. Rosalie, ever the helpful companion, was right in the thick of it with him. She facilitated a perfect mixture of feminine wiles and formidable business sense to assist Jacopo in his endeavors.

Raymond watched her intently, noting other men were doing so as well.

The dress she chose for the night was light and airy, flowing over her curves like a winding river. The pale sage green colour actually paired well with Raymond's eyes, which were glued to each dip and sway of her hips. Her delicate shoulders were uncovered, peaking over the small sleeves which wrapped about her arms. Something about the glimpse of skin made Red absolutely parched.

Stratos chortled, seeing the man's attentions wholly diverted to the spritely figure across the table. He leaned over to Raymond as Rosalie and Jacopo sat conspiring for Onda. "I had no idea she was such a wild card, Raymond, no wonder you've been keeping her to yourself."

"I think she aspires to be a siren." Red intoned in a velvety voice, a mischievous glint lurking behind his eyes.

"I prefer the term freebooter," retorted Rosalie, catching his comment with a sly smirk. "And there's no aspiring, darling, I'm already there."

Raymond grinned, all too eager to take up a round of witty banter with the confident little deviant. "Is that so, my dear?"

"If you recall, you've called me a minx several times this week alone." The sincerity in her voice did nothing to hide the blatant implications of such a statement.

Her eyes met his challengingly as she counted out several euros for a bribe against the Nicchio contrada.

"And I stand by that statement. You could steal a sailor from the sea." Red crooned, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek.

The expression always gave him an air of roguishness that made Rosalie squirm in delight.

Raymond caught the subtle shift of her thighs, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

When the group finally returned to the apartment, they were all quite drunk, and their pockets were considerably lighter for their cavorting and racketeering.

In the dark of the home's halls, Raymond and Rosalie took their sweet time heading toward their rooms. By the time they reached their hallway, the others were already safely out of the way.

Red pulled the tipsy little creature to him, kissing her sensually. She matched his ardour, stroking his tongue languidly with hers. She could taste the robust wine they had been drinking, making her feel doubly dizzy.

"I want you in my bed." She purred boldly, "But we can't."

Raymond groaned into her mouth, backing her into the nearest wall. "Why not?" he questioned, trailing his mouth down her slender neck.

"Because it is hotter 'n a blister bug in a pepper patch." She giggled, the tiniest hint of an accent sneaking into her voice.

"And I," She prodded a finger into Red's chest. "Have been looking forward to sprawling naked on that bed."

Raymond's eyebrows hit his hairline as she jutted a thumb down the hall.

"All. Day. Long."

She accentuated the statement with little pokes to his person, working her way up to the top of his shirt, where the first few buttons were undone. A quiet hum could be heard as she focused on the small glimpse of his skin, the chest hair there reminding her of the virile, confident man she had been eyeing earlier.

When her eyes flitted coyly up to Raymond's face she found the same man, but his visage had darkened to a heated, predatory nature. She was forcefully reminded of the power he held, the towering intellect that had drawn her to him in the first place, the way he positively swaggered into a room.

Rosalie's knees shook, every inch of Raymond Reddington now felt like new and uncharted territory.

Her eyes dropped to the opening of his shirt, placing a sweet, gentle kiss to the warm skin. The scent that was uniquely his flooded her senses, pulling a needy whine from her throat.

Raymond stood stock still, bracing himself against the wall behind her with one hand. He had been too busy chuckling at her endearing antics and the quaint phrases which had snuck into her speech to notice the palpable change in atmosphere. The soft kiss she placed to his bare chest brought him out of his haze and made him growl in approval. She hadn't yet kissed him there, and it now felt painfully, wonderfully intimate.

Raymond thumbed her chin, guiding the sweet little face to look up at him. "You're cruel, woman."

"You started it." She grinned, reaching up to give his nose a boop.

The woman turned on her heel, giggling aloud as she wriggled from his grasp.

Red watched her go, forcing himself not to follow her tipsy footsteps. He was confident he couldn't keep his hands to himself if he were to join her.

This was going to be a long week, and Raymond couldn't help but look forward to every agonizing second.

_Stratos's Apartment - Piazza del Campo, Siena, Italy - July 2nd, 1999_

The morning of the Palio saw two very disgruntled criminals tossing and turning in bed.

Reddington was sorely regretting the challenge he had issued Rosalie.

She hadn't been downplaying her abilities as a merciless tease.

His prowess was on par with hers, however, leaving them both in a rather frazzled state.

Cold showers abounded as their antics reached a near-boiling point.

Everything the woman did and everything she wore seemed to set the man on fire.

Red had kissed her right up to her door each night, enthralled with their flagrant disregard for their previous boundaries. He had also growled his dissatisfaction each time the little hellion kissed him off, feigning utmost innocence.

She giggled openly as she disappeared into her room, all too eager to leave him hot and bothered at her door.

The woman in question was not immune, however, and in the very early hours of the morning, she huffed her frustration. A delightful dream had been waylaid by the sound of church bells in the distance. It was the crack of dawn and her body felt like it was burning from the inside out.

Deciding nothing could be harmed by it, she got up and quietly padded to the master bath across the hall.

Raymond had been unable to sleep as well. He was enjoying an ice cold glass of juice when he heard the sound of the shower running upstairs and smiled softly to himself.

As he walked back to his room, a soft, feminine moan reached his ears. Red halted like a stone bust in the hall, ears pricked for any further sound. Another groan drifted down to where he stood. Without hesitation, the man strode in the direction of the master bath.

The sound of the shower grew louder as he reached the door, another groan echoing from the confines of the room. The man was just starting to feel concerned that Rosalie was somehow hurt when a soft mew followed by a girlish giggle escaped from behind the closed door.

Heat crept up Red's neck at the thought of what he had inadvertently walked into. He knew he shouldn't be listening, but he found his feet were glued to the floor.

The sounds he could hear from his place outside the door left him painfully aware of what the beautiful young woman was up to in there.

Her soft whimpering gasps cut right through him.

If this was one of her teasing antics, he would gladly concede defeat if it meant finding out precisely what delectable things she was doing to coax those sounds from her own mouth.

Red placed his hand gently against the door, allowing his head to hit the frame with a soft thud .

The moans continued to creep through the space between door and frame. Raymond closed his eyes, listening hungrily to each one.

He could tell she was close, her panting had sped up, each whimper became more desperate as she chased her climax.

Red's erection strained painfully against the zipper of his trousers. He palmed himself just enough to relieve some of the ache.

She was becoming more erratic now, he could hear how frantic she was as she brought herself ever closer to the edge.

Red had to stifle a groan as he heard her pleading for release in a trembling voice. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, and it went straight to his throbbing cock.

He could picture her then, in the throes of passion, fisting the sheets of his bed as he drove her wild.

He could practically hear her call his name, until he realized with a jolt that his name was coming from the bathroom.

"Raymond...oh _god_, Raymond!"

He panicked for a moment, thinking she must have noticed his presence. When nothing happened and the sinful noises continued from the room, Red realized with a barely contained moan that Rosalie was thinking of him .

The thought combined with the utterly wanton cry signalling her release and Red felt his knees buckling as he held fast to the frame. The noises quietened to soft gasps as Rosalie recovered from her high. She was trembling, shaking from her orgasm, and the man could hear it. The noises made his body tense and shudder, wanting to kick the door down and ravage the woman within.

A short while later, Rosalie continued her shower where she left off, her breathing restored to normal.

Red took a steadying breath and walked quietly back down the hall. He needed a drink to calm the blood that was pounding through his veins at an alarming rate. The bar cart in the lounge held a new bottle of his favourite scotch. He poured a couple fingers and retreated to the woman's room, trying to focus on anything but her naked and getting off in the shower. He needed to compose himself before she arrived.

He was losing the upper hand, in their little game, and he was determined to regain his footing.

When Rosalie finished her shower, she padded to her room only to find Raymond relaxing on her bed, casually staring her down.

"My apologies for startling you, my dear," he purred, "I would have announced myself but I know how much you love your long showers. So I poured myself a drink and let you finish ."

He caressed the last word with an indecent level of smugness.

Rosalie lowered her eyes to her attire as the realization hit her. He knew full well what she had gotten up to in the shower and was raring to tease her about it.

Rather than making her feel abashed, his obvious interest in her antics only served to confirm she was having a sizable effect on him.

He grinned at her pointed silence. "The Palio doesn't start for several hours. If you don't mind, I think I'll indulge in a nice hot rinse as well."

The man stood up and swaggered down the hall with entirely too much bravado.

The blood still pounded in his ears as he made his way to the master bath. Red needed release or he was certain he would snap.

Opening the doors to the lavish suite, he stepped into the still steamy confines, an animalistic growl erupting from his throat.

The scent of Rosalie's bath products hung lightly in the air, mingling with the unmistakable and achingly delicious scent of aroused woman.

Raymond's nostrils flared, taking in the titillating blend of scents.

A feminine giggle could be heard from the hallway. Red turned to see Rosalie's mischievous little face peeking around the door.

She knew damn well what had caused such a specific growl to echo from the steamy space.

"Enjoy your rinse, Reddington." she purred, "Here's an extra towel, should you need it."

Red's eyes dilated as she tossed the towel she had been wearing onto one of the sink basins. The door conveniently covered her nakedness and she laughed merrily, winking cheekily before striding down the hall without a care in the world.

Raymond stood knock-kneed in the steamy room, his shaft aching with need.

The cruel little tease wasn't just winning their game, she was systematically destroying the dying vestiges of the man's already feeble resolve.

He was going to break, that much he knew, it was just a question of how long he could withstand the onslaught. Part of him revelled in the challenge, seeing how long he could hold himself back from the wicked siren who was determined to be his.

Later that morning, the group was gathering to make their way to the Palio. Rosalie had just walked into the kitchen wearing what could very well be her new favourite outfit. She had chosen it specifically to support Jacopo's contrada, even though they weren't running. She had also chosen it because of the insufferable heat.

It was a pale blue seafoam romper, something the woman hadn't worn in years. The cut was cute and modest, yet left her toned legs on full display. She told herself her choice of attire had nothing to do with the fact that Raymond seemed completely enamoured with that particular part of her anatomy.

She paired the outfit with a pair of small beige boots and red rimmed sunglasses.

"Reddington is going to ask where your gun is." Reminded Horace, looking at the woman in the aquamarine romper, baffled as to where she planned on hiding the damn thing. His comment was met with silence and a sly, carefree smile.

Reddington entered the kitchen in another pale suit, the sleeves preemptively rolled up and the top buttons opened.

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of the young innkeeper.

Dembe and Horace grinned knowingly at each other.

"Where did she find that ensemble?" Asked Dembe softly.

"She went shopping with Jacopo's daughters yesterday afternoon." Intoned Horace, "I think she's determined to kill him or bed him, whichever comes first."

The bodyguards snorted with laughter. They had suspected there was a battle of wills occurring between Raymond and Rosalie, and the looks the man was giving her all but confirmed it.

Rosalie dimpled coyly at him. She thread her fingers in front of her in what, to the untrained eye, seemed like an innocent expression.

The formidable fugitive strode casually into the room, determinedly gaining the upper hand. He eyed her body openly, from her head of golden curls right down to the toes of her small boots.

It was impossible for Rosalie not to be affected by his gaze.

Her whole body flushed a pleasant pink as he stood nose to nose with her.

"You need a hat, my dear." He advised, plucking the straw fedora from his own pate and popping it on her curls with a flourish.

The item was much like her panama, a very light straw color with a striking black band.

Rosalie looked up at him from beneath the the brim. "What about you?" She asked, thinking he would be terribly uncomfortable without something covering his head.

Red's mouth twitched minutely as he reached behind her, plucking an almost identical hat from the rack beside the door. He placed it on his head, running his fingertips from the back of the brim to the front, showcasing the chocolate brown band that distinguished the fedora from the one on Rosalie.

Their merry little band filed out of the comfortable apartment and into the bustling streets. Stratos and Jacopo lead the way to their seats along the track.

Raymond grasped Rosalie's hand, guiding her through the thronging crowds with Horace and Dembe flanking them on either side.

"My God, it's hotter than Satan's house cat." Grumbled Rosalie, feeling the heat pour over like a stifling haze as they took to the stands.

"How you aren't burning up in all that is beyond me." She commented idly to Raymond, shimmying down the line.

Red watched the full hips swish back and forth. "Sweetheart, you have no idea." He grumbled under his breath.

Dembe was the only one to catch his comment.

A low, smooth laugh sounded from behind Raymond, who turned to look at his bodyguard. The young man chortled merrily at his sullen expression.

"You're enjoying this too much." Reddington chastised, the corner of his mouth just barely twitching in amusement.

"She warned you." goaded Dembe, eager to escalate the matter.

Raymond narrowed his eyes at the reminder, choosing not to address the shrewd observation in favor of taking his seat beside Rosalie.

He glanced surreptitiously over at the lithe form, "Where is your firearm?" Red chided. He had yet to stop admiring her attire, however he doubted she could have even fit her switchblades in it.

"I'm following the rules." She groused, "Mind you, it wasn't easy. I had to get damn clever with the sewing."

Red looked over her attire again, eyes trailing down the plain of her back, over the curve of her derrière and down those damnable legs.

"I don't believe you. Where on earth could you hide it?"

An indelicate snigger issued from beside him.

"Ah, the feminine mystique strikes again." intoned Dembe, sharing a mischievous grin with the young innkeeper.

Rosalie beamed at her comrade, leaning into his ear and sharing her secrets.

The man's eyebrows rose, apparently impressed with her textile-based ingenuity. He offered a silent golf clap in praise of her efforts, smirking knowingly at a disgruntled Raymond Reddington.

Red's relentless curiosity was piqued, so he tapped her shoulder with a thick digit.

Rosalie turned, peering docilely up at him.

Intent on locating the elusive weapon, Red's large, warm hands gripped her hips. The strong fingers kneaded the pliant flesh, searching for any indication of her hiding spot.

Dembe chuckled, instinctively turning his large frame to help shield them from sight. Stratos was too busy talking animatedly with Jacopo, his broad shoulders blocking their other side. Raymond backed the woman against the railing, blocking the last avenue of visibility to their antics.

Rosalie watched him through hooded eyes as the fire in her belly stirred to vivid life. Her body delighted in his intense scrutiny, wanting to be bared to his gaze.

Those powerful hands painted sinful pictures in her mind's eye as they followed the outward curve of her hips up into the narrow hollow of her waist.

Raymond couldn't stifle a deep growl of longing as his hands outlined the tantalizing hourglass. His thumbs grazed over the soft material covering the taut surface of her abdomen, finally catching on a tiny bump running across the narrow slip of her waist. The bump continued in a ring around her body, which Red traced until his fingertips grazed a hard object behind her back.

Eyes boring into hers, Raymond grasped the soft shoulders, guiding them so she was standing with her back to him.

A sweet ache thrummed between Rosalie's legs as she practically felt his heated gaze trailing down her body.

Red leaned forward, grasping the railing on either side of the curvaceous frame, boxing her in with his masculine bulk.

Rosalie found she quite liked the position. She felt safe, protected from all the bellowing and noise. It was like a bubble had surrounded them in the crowd, creating their own little world. Raymond's scent and proximity made her quiver, truth be told, and the reaction did not go unnoticed by Reddington. He leaned in, stealthily placing his warm lips to her sun-kissed nape.

The action pulled a tremulous sigh from Rosalie before she could stifle it.

A devilish grin tugged at Raymond's mouth.

He was enjoying the hell out of this.

The Concierge of Crime knew precisely where her firearm was hidden, yet he continued his slow, deliberate perusal of her trembling form anyway.

Red lifted a hand to brush the honeyed curls away from the woman's neck, trailing his deft fingertips over the satiny expanse, fighting a definite urge to lick every goosebump he left in his wake.

His searching and groping carried down her shoulders, and around the curves of her waist and hips, deliberately missing the item by millimeters. Finally, his hands trekked slowly down the centre of her spine, bumping into a hard object halfway down her frame.

"I seem to have found evidence of contraband, darling." His tone was victorious as his lips grazed the shell of her ear.

Rosalie squeaked, leaning into the pleasant tickle of his warm breath against her sensitive skin.

"My only question is…"

The rumbling voice made her thighs squeeze together in a desperate attempt to relieve the need he was creating.

"...How do you plan to access such an elusive item?"

A lone digit extended to stroke the supple flesh of her thigh, skirting along the hem of her clothing, teasing the burning skin hidden beneath the soft fabric.

"This little ensemble is so perfectly fitted," he growled, pressing his imposing frame against hers.

"I want to know, from where, exactly, you might be pulling all that fire power?" His request was punctuated by a dark chuckle as he nipped her earlobe.

Rosalie was going to spontaneously combust, she just knew it.

Her lips were parted, arousal coursing through her every nerve ending. As though under a spell, her traitorous hand grasped his, lifting it from the railing. She looked back at Raymond, placing a gentle kiss to his palm as she did so.

Red's breath hitched, watching the rosy lips meet his skin.

Rosalie's heart was hammering as she mentally scrambled to get her bearings. She turned back to the railing, her slender fingers threading through his.

Raymond grunted as she placed his hand on her lower abdomen, just a hair's breadth above her pelvis.

"Here?" he questioned, disbelief colouring his voice.

"No." She giggled, keeping her hand over his, guiding it around to her hip.

The man behind her hummed softly as she dragged his hand along the soft fabric.

"Here?" he rasped, his fingers curling instinctively into the delectable curve, the image of himself pulling her frame back to meet his thrusts flooding his mind.

"_No_." She grinned, sensing where his mind had wandered. She adjusted her arm, bending it behind her back the way one would when getting handcuffed.

"Rosalie." Raymond whispered her name like a plea. His well-laid plans were going to hell entirely too quickly for his liking.

The little deviant wiggled her fingers at him, calling to the hand she had abandoned.

With no small amount of trepidation, the man placed his fingertips to her palm.

The little grip closed around two of the thick digits, guiding them to the bottom of one of the romper's pleats, just above the swell of her backside.

Rosalie turned her head to the side, silently beckoning him closer. She wanted him near, wanted to bask in the exact moment when he located his target.

Red leaned over her shoulder, shielding her actions and brushing his lips against hers. A delighted hum poured from her mouth as he did so.

Red felt her reaffirm her hold on his fingers, shifting them ever so slowly up the inside crease of the pleat.

As they reached the dip of her waist, Red felt something.

A tiny, minuscule zipper was tucked within the pleat, completely invisible to the naked eye.

Raymond's fingers closed on the little tab, the green eyes locking on the little face gazing up at him.

Rosalie waited in agonized anticipation as he gently tugged.

It was torture, feeling each one of the zipper's teeth give way.

His lips parted, brushing teasingly against hers as her sweet breath ghosted across his lips.

When the hidden space opened, Red pulled away, cocking his head and grinning slyly at the glinting handle of the Browning hi-power.

What he found just below the firearm, however, shook the man to his very foundations.

Rosalie watched him avidly as recognition dawned on his handsome features.

There, just beneath the gun's glinting barrel, he spotted the tiniest scrap of snow-white panties he had ever seen.

Raymond's forehead thudded against her shoulder with a piteous moan.

Rosalie giggled in her mischievous way, not helping the situation in the slightest.

Raymond knew now, she had expected him to go looking for the firearm, had known if she had made the slightest mystery of it, he wouldn't cease until he located it. She had planned for the eventuality, and delighted in teasing him with a devilish peak at the innocent bit of lingerie cradling her feminine assets.

"Have mercy, woman." He pleaded in his sinfully deep baritone, his index finger reaching within to stroke beneath the minuscule strip of lace.

The fantasies hurtling through his mind in that moment would have dropped a lesser man to his knees.

"You were the one insisting on frisking me." She reminded, unaware she was arching up into his touch.

"You damnable little minx," he admonished in a tone of utmost reverence, "How on earth am I supposed to concentrate on anything with you right here, looking like every one of my schoolboy fantasies?"

"I warned you Raymond." She moaned softly, feeling the evidence of his arousal pressing against the small of her back.

She placed her lips against his ear, teasing him further. "We can revisit your school boy fantasies later, I'm almost certain there's a pleated skirt in my overnight bag."

Raymond groaned, reaching a hand to cup her cheek, guiding her sweet mouth to his.

Rosalie could vaguely hear wolf whistles echoing from across the track, but she was too preoccupied with Red's tongue to be bothered.

She was about to suggest they take their little exploration back to the apartment when the sound of cannon fire echoed along the piazza.

_Il Palio_ was about to begin.


	14. Turnabout

A rumble of dissension passed between Raymond and Rosalie at the sound of the cannon. Neither seemed pleased at the disruption, their shared arousal thrumming palpably in the air between them.

A passel of young Sienese men could be heard cat-calling the pair from across the track. One stern glance from the man in the hat had them quieter than church mice.

Rosalie watched the exchange with unbridled amusement, Raymond's dark countenance was rather enticing in her opinion.

She leaned forward, placing her lips to a point just beneath his jaw.

Red turned his head slightly, opening himself to the affection.

Rosalie grinned and kissed the place again, nuzzling the stubble there playfully. It seemed she had found a bit of a soft spot, as Raymond's eyelids fluttered and he unconsciously pressed closer to the feminine silhouette in front of him.

Rosalie hummed contentedly, pleased at being surrounded by his larger frame.

"We'll continue this later, I wouldn't want you to miss the race." Raymond murmured quietly, placing his lips to her temple once more before striking up a conversation with Dembe.

Their friend was grinning slyly at them both, noticing how Raymond remained protectively close to Rosalie as the crowd became more and more raucous.

An idea struck Red, and he leaned into Dembe's ear while passing his friend a large wad of cash.

Dembe smiled suspiciously at the other man before taking the money and hurriedly making his way along the row.

"Where's he going?" asked Rosalie, watching his broad frame parting the sea of onlookers.

Red smirked at nothing in particular. "Never you mind. He's making a last minute bribe for me. He'll be back long before the race starts."

True to his word, Dembe returned moments later with a broad grin. The bribe had obviously been successful.

Rosalie eyed the pair suspiciously, who met her with identical looks of utmost innocence.

The pageantry and fanfare soon began, inundating the piazza in a riot of song and color. There were several performers presenting the colors of the various contrade, the ones racing, those not chosen, and those that were no longer in existence.

Rosalie had always been a sucker for tradition. There was something about ritual and the meaning behind such things within a culture that thoroughly tugged at her heart strings. As the performers brought by the colors of past contrade, she felt her eyes mist slightly. They were taking part in something centuries old.

This wild derby of craft and cleverness withstood a daunting test of time. The people of Siena were holding its importance in their hearts, keeping the tradition alive through years of war, years of peace, years of plenty, and years of want. Centuries later, the Sienese still stood, young and old, cheering and singing their songs with pride.

It was a terribly lovely thing, to be a part of something which was held so dear.

Raymond watched her features avidly. Even behind her sunglasses, he could see she was moved by the proceedings. She saw the value in old things, in tradition. It was one of the more endearing things he had learned about her.

Jacopo was singing a roaring tune with his contrada, all but shaking the stands with their song. The portly old fellow was having a terribly good time, even if his contrada was not competing. He had done his part to sabotage their rivals and bolster their allies, and now sat back to enjoy the festivities.

It wasn't until he started telling stories of his contrada's various Palio misdeeds did the group really get rowdy.

Rosalie was in tears of laughter as Jacopo told her and Raymond a story from his teens. Apparently, he and his friends had sprayed the scent of a mare on a pillar where the Torre contrada's horse was going to be tethered. Torre's horse was, of course, a stallion, who could hardly be bothered to stumble his way around the track by the time the race came around.

"Oh, poor old boy." Rosalie tutted, wiping the mirth from her eyes.

Raymond let out a barking laugh. "Yes, I can't possibly imagine what that must be like." He groused, staring pointedly at the tease who had spent the better part of the day tormenting him.

The look on Rosalie's face was priceless.

Slowly, the horses and jockeys began to line up at the start. The names of each contrada were called out in the order of the lot they drew, followed by the run-in horse at the end.

"Now, what does it cost to bribe the run-in jockey?" Asked Rosalie, leaning into Jacopo's ear.

"Roughly €70,000." Said Jacopo, his eyes not leaving the start. "The run-in jockey could swing the whole race, so he is paid very handsomely."

The whole piazza watched with bated breath, it was the quietest they had been all day.

There were several false starts before finally, the run-in jockey took off like a bullet.

The noise was deafening as the crowd took up their cheering and the horses came sprinting past.

Red clapped and whistled loudly as the jockey for Pantera took a spectacular dive off the chestnut stallion he was riding.

Rosalie's contrada, Civetta, was lingering in the background, as unlikely to win as ever. She laughed at the thought as the riders came about for the first lap, the stands around them exploding with noise.

Raymond had bet on Oca, and was so far in the lead. Trecciolino, the jockey, had already won the Palio thrice. It bode well for Red's chosen contrada.

It also helped that Red had foot a few bribes to ease his path.

Rosalie felt Raymond's tall frame lean into hers, mentally willing his horse to win. They all leaned forward as the horses came hurtling around the track for the second lap.

It was incredible, they not only heard the sound of thundering hooves, they could positively feel it as the percussive galloping reverberated off the walls and into the stands.

"Come on," muttered Red, "just a bit longer."

Oca was in the lead, but just barely holding it. The horse from Pantera was hot on his trail. Even without its jockey, the other horse could still win the race.

Raymond grasped Rosalie's waist as the horses came thundering toward the finish line just past their seats. The crowd was roaring yet everything seemed to go silent as they watched Oca cross the finish line in the lead.

The piazza rang with song, cheering, and screaming from the Oca contrada. They had won, with Pantera coming in at a close second.

The revelers took to the track, celebrating and whooping their elation.

Red was grinning broadly, incredibly pleased with his win.

Beside the group of victors was a rather vicious-looking group of men. One was wearing a slick suit and was positively screaming at a young man, hitting him repeatedly across the face.

Rosalie's eyes snapped toward the commotion, narrowing at a young jockey and the barbaresco of a contrada having a rather boisterous row.

The horse belonged to Pantera, which had come in second out of the Contrade, without its jockey. This was in many ways worse than losing by a wide margin.

The creature had flattened his ears, understandably nervous with all of the noise.

The rider was awfully young, all of 18, maybe less. The poor thing was covered in dirt from his fall and now had a bloody nose to boot.

It was when the barbaresco had raised the whip toward the skittish animal that Rosalie's temper roared to the surface.

Without hesitating or consulting her cohorts, the woman leapt the barrier and strode hotly toward the commotion.

The men glanced at each other with varying degrees of amusement, which immediately turned to concern as the brazen hellcat reached her target, Pantera's barbaresco, a man by the name of Diamanté.

Rosalie stepped so she was nose to nose with the Sienese heavyweight, refusing to shrink at his snarling. Her smoking grey eyes narrowed nastily at the man as she shouted right back at him in fluent, fiery Italian.

Jacopo roared in delight, leaping to join the fray with several men of his contrada, young and old, supporting the woman who was setting Diamanté in his place.

Raymond, Horace, Dembe, and Stratos followed, getting separated in the rapidly growing crowd.

Rosalie was rattling off more than a few choice words. The Onda contrada accepted the blazing virago as one of their own, surrounding her on all sides to take up her cause with boisterous, rude gestures in the enemy's direction.

Red reached her first. He tugged her shoulder, turning her into his chest, inserting himself as a pillar of support in the rapidly heating argument.

"Vai a cacare, troi!" The fat man groused, waving the young woman off.

The comment sent Rosalie whipping back into the fray, a barrage of fierce retorts dripping from her tongue like acid.

Several men from Onda also rushed forward, offended on her behalf. The bustling crowd managed to wedge itself between Raymond and Rosalie, with Red just barely able to see the head of blond hair beneath the horde. The elusive woman had wiggled her way back to the front of the crowd, her eyes blazing at her opponent.

Dembe appeared beside him and pressed a phone into Red's hand. The bodyguard had already dialled Jacopo, who was somewhere in the mass of people.

"Che cosa?" He answered, the sound on the other end deafening.

"Jacopo, I need you to make absolutely certain nothing happens to Rosalie." Red worked his way along the outside edge of the group, straining to catch a glimpse of the fedora-clad blonde in the centre of the fray.

"Not to worry, I've got your piccola amante. We'll get her out in one piece." Jacopo assured, commanding the others in booming Italian.

Raymond watched as the men surrounding Jacopo turned to relay the message to those around them, his nerves settling slightly.

Horace was attempting to push his way through the crowd to get to his charge, but to no avail. The contrada had taken up her protection at Raymond's behest and were not about to let anyone else into the altercation.

Rosalie's argument with the Sienese barbaresco was reaching a fevered pitch.

"Li mortacci tua!" she snarled, her full lips caressing the words with almost indecent enjoyment.

Raymond couldn't help but grin with pride at her gumption. He wasn't great spades at Italian, but he knew the phrase she uttered was quite the rejoinder.

The men around Rosalie took up the insult, chanting it merrily in the other man's face. They sing-songed the retort, turning it into a delightfully crude serenade.

Their taunting hit a nerve, and the towering meatball of a man made the grave mistake of lifting a hand towards the woman.

Before Red could even begin battling his way through the crowd, the contrada swarmed in around Rosalie. The men spun, guided, and lifted her in a whirl of movement so she was deposited safely outside of the fight, directly in front of one relieved Raymond Reddington.

He confronted the fiery woman before him. Her breasts heaved against the aquamarine romper, her cheeks ablaze and the small hands at her sides were balled into angry fists.

Red's eyes belied his amusement as he reached to tug on one of the golden curls nestled beneath his fedora.

"Now, what manner of chaos have you managed to orchestrate today, my dear?"

The woman breathed deeply, smirking as she looked up past the brim of his fedora. "I told him the Contrada Pantera could sell me their horse and treat their jockey like a human being, or, I could funnel my considerable wealth and talents into assisting their rival, La Contrada Dell'Aquila. I've heard they are quite the handful."

Raymond snorted indelicately, thinking her threat certainly wasn't idle. The last time Aquila won, the contrada had blasted mottos mocking Pantera from their church's bell tower for over a month straight.

" That's not all you said ." He chided knowingly, cocking his head at her.

Rosalie tittered mischievously, stepping into the man's sphere and dimpling up at him. "I might have said something along the lines of his bastard ancestors…"

Her usually gentle and warm voice held a heated, playful tone that stroked the fire of Raymond's arousal back to an unbearable inferno.

Reddington lifted the woman bodily onto his shoulder, chortling darkly and shaking his head as she continued to goad Diamanté.

"Porca Misera! Coglione!" she cheered in solidarity as the young jockey sank a fist into the barbaresco's jaw. "Dammit Raymond," she giggled, her small hand swatting him playfully, just barely making contact with the man's firm rump. "Put me down!"

"Careful now, I thought Stratos told you I enjoyed that sort of thing."

Rosalie laughed her merriment, adding a pinch for good measure.

The man deposited her in the shadow of a nearby archway. His masculine frame blocked any path of escape, forcing Rosalie to halt her movements and look up at him with wide eyes.

Straight-backed and formidable, the Concierge of Crime prowled toward her, setting her heart racing.

Rosalie balked. It was moments like this when she was forcibly reminded of who the man was. His frame seemed taller, broader, he towered over her. The sheer masculinity he exuded was all-consuming, and it made her feel wonderfully nervous.

Raymond backed her into the darkest corner of the archway and Rosalie nearly yelped as she felt the solid, immovable stone wall appear behind her.

He had her pinned, and there was nowhere for her to go.

She quite liked it.

Raymond's powerful arms pressed both hands against the wall behind her, bracketing the little spitfire so she couldn't move an inch without brushing against a very amused fugitive.

He turned his head, tracing the tip of his nose along the hollow at the base of her neck. The dark, delectable sound of his laughter reverberated pleasantly along Rosalie's skin.

The simple gesture sent shock waves through the woman, pulling her mind from her previous pursuits entirely. She leaned into his warm mouth as it opened, suckling and nipping the spot intently.

"You are a fiery little Machiavellian, aren't you?" he teased, thrilling in the tremors that wracked her feminine frame.

He adored her.

She was a vivacious, devious creature, and before the day was over, Red would have her.

He was planning for the eventuality even now.

Before Rosalie could reply, before she knew what was happening, Red's mouth was devouring hers. His hands wandered, one curling into the ample curve of her backside, the other sliding along the front of her romper, dragging a thumb over the pert nipple he found straining against the fabric.

Rosalie's arms wrapped instinctively around his neck leaning into his touch as he thoroughly ravaged her. She found she liked this rough handling, a breathy moan working its way out of her throat as he teased and tormented her.

Raymond relinquished her kiss-swollen mouth, his dark eyes burning into the woman wedged into the corner.

"My contrada won, my little dove."

The deep grey eyes looked up at him, watching in fascination as his lips formed the words. He had never called her 'little dove' before. Rosalie felt an unexpected squirm of delight at the endearment.

"I've been forced to watch you strut around in this little getup for hours, knowing exactly what you've got hidden beneath." He chastised, giving her a stern look even as she flashed an impish smile up at him.

"I thought you enjoyed my surprise?" She asked innocently, her face a perfect mask of mock disappointment.

Reddington leaned forward to speak directly into her ear. "Oh, my little deviant," he purred, "I loved it. So much so, I've decided what my prize will be for winning our wager."

Rosalie froze. He couldn't possibly… He couldn't mean…

He cocked his head, watching her reaction hungrily. "Now you can strut around the rest of the day knowing that when you least expect it, I'm going to steal those lovely little white panties from you."

The statement made her jaw drop and her thighs squeeze together in anticipation.

"And there is nothing you can do to keep me from my prize." Raymond promised, leaning back enough to take in the sight of the trembling, disheveled woman.

After her shenanigans in the shower that morning, he had been looking for his opportunity to regain control of their antics. The last minute bribe had secured his contrada's win, garnering him that opportunity.

The shock written plainly on Rosalie's face made the man chuckle. If she hadn't also been squirming with excitement Raymond might have thought he'd gone too far.

Instead, he had sparked a wildfire in her which he looked forward to stoking over the coming hours. He'd guaranteed she would be on her toes the rest of the day, waiting for him to take what was his. She'd be elusive, hard to get.

Red looked forward to the challenge. He would still find ways to corner her, he would tease and excite her to the point of all but giving him the item.

Unable to quell the delectable fantasies involving the little blonde, Raymond tempered his arousal by claiming her lips again.

Poor Jacopo made his way back through the brawling crowd with a split lip and a boyish grin. The man looked like he had won the lottery.

"Raymond!" He bellowed, walking toward the pair with arms outstretched, "You and your… Oh, ho, ho!" He stumbled upon the amorous couple sequestered in a dark corner of a nearby archway.

Red didn't even hear the man's approach, so intent was he on teasing the woman trapped between himself and the stone wall.

Rosalie was at his mercy, each touch and caress driving her wild as Raymond kissed her senseless.

The pair finally broke for air, the tension between them painfully heavy, only to find Jacopo, several members of his contrada, Horace, and Dembe waiting patiently for their presence to be acknowledged.

"Um…" murmured Rosalie, looking over his shoulder at the small crowd, one of whom gave a loud wolf-whistle. She turned back to Raymond.

The man was entirely unfazed at them being caught. He turned slightly, leaving one hand behind her on the wall and allowing the other to drop to his trouser pocket.

"Well that was fun." He quipped, looking blithely back at the group. "Now, what's this I heard about dinner in Onda? I'm positively famished."

He turned to Rosalie, "Shall we? I'm sure you worked up an appetite starting a war amongst the contrade."

The woman's cheeks turned scarlet at the statement, making Dembe and Horace both snort with laughter.

She cast them both a poor attempt at a scathing look, willing them to help end her misery.

Dembe, the saint, came to her rescue. "Perhaps we are all ready for the calm of the dinner table, regardless of our Palio activities."

The woman mouthed an emphatic thank you to the young bodyguard, garnering a brilliant smile from him.

The couple joined their group, grinning sheepishly as they turned toward the Onda.

Before they could begin venturing outside of the piazza, however, a band of surly looking Sienese men came striding up to them in slick suits.

Jacopo narrowed his eyes at the man in the middle. He was short, wiry, and had the demeanor of an aged jackal. "Stefano." He grunted curtly, taking a sidelong step closer to the woman in the center of their group.

Red felt Jacopo's remaining contrada members shift inward as well, bracketing them on all sides.

Stefano eyed them all blithely. "I would like to speak to your young Epona, alone."

"No." Replied Jacopo, his voice stony as he glowered at the man.

The grizzled old Sienese seemed in no mood. His dark brown eyes zeroed in on Rosalie, rattling off in rapid Italian.

Raymond's countenance shifted to suspicious dislike. The man's tone did not sound entirely polite.

Rosalie strode confidently forward, the mask of the criminal calmly in place as she sized up this new threat. She responded in a formal lilting Italian, taking up the conversation without much ado.

Red watched her body language carefully for cues.

Rosalie's hands remained folded delicately in front of her. She was straight-backed, pleasant yet firm in her dealing. She showed an incredible level of poise for someone who had just nearly engaged in a fist fight.

Their conversation carried on for some time, switching to the dulcet tones of what Raymond recognized as a negotiation.

Rosalie became much more unyielding in her tone and posture as the negotiation went on.

Finally they seemed to come to an agreement. Stefano held out his hand, his voice dropping to a deeper, much more pleasant sound.

Rosalie's eyes narrowed, taking his hand whilst stepping closer to Raymond. When Stefano released her hand, she placed it significantly on Red's arm retorting in a smooth, clipped tone.

The wiry old man's dark eyes turned to Reddington. "You have quite the woman, Mr. Reddington." Stefano commented dryly.

"I most certainly do." Agreed Raymond, his head cocked and his green eyes boring into the other man. The arm Rosalie had grasped moved to wrap protectively about her hips.

Stefano seemed to recognize the subtle threat behind the gaze, nodding back to Rosalie before striding off with his cronies in tow. One of the young men stayed behind, holding the reins of Pantera's horse.

Rosalie held out her hand imperiously,into which he placed the reins before scurrying off after his group.

"I take it you got your prize?" Asked Red, eyeing the large chestnut stallion with interest.

"I make no idle threats." Confirmed Rosalie, "I decided this horse needed a home with me. Stefano disagreed, and I offered to pull every last one of my criminal strings to ensure Pantera became the next Nonna."

Raymond and the other men roared with laughter as Rosalie gave a sardonic little curtsy.

"And that's the story of how I blackmailed my way to a racehorse from the Palio of July 1999."

Her cohorts were pleased with the turn of events, taking it in turns to pet and examine the large animal.

His name was Re Artú, 'King Arthur'. He had ran a few Palios already, and was nine years old. For a stallion, he had a rather calm demeanor, standing quietly alongside his new owner. His beautiful chestnut coat was spotted with a few whipping marks which made Rosalie's blood boil.

She held the horse's bridle, softly stroking the animal's nose as she cooed lovingly to him.

"There now, old boy." She soothed, reaching to pat the horse's neck, "You are going to have a gentle, quiet life from now on. I promise." The large animal nuzzled its head against her torso affectionately, ears pricked forward to listen to the woman's soothing voice.

The comment plucked at Raymond's heart strings. There was nothing quite like the Palio, but it was easy to forget how violent it could be. The level of craftiness and skulduggery employed by the jockeys and the contrade was thrilling, but that never lessened the concern for the animals involved.

He had known the young woman had a soft spot for creatures who could not defend themselves, the haven she had at Break Maiden being a testament to it.

The young jockey who had ridden the horse limped stiffly up to Rosalie. He was bracketed on both sides by bodyguards, there to protect him from the furious Pantera crowd. "Buonasera, Signorina Eponina."

Rosalie tilted her head at the greeting, forgetting what the word Epona meant. She let it go as the barbaresco of the Civetta contrada made his way over to her as well.

"Signorina Eponina," he greeted, using the same word. "La Contrada Civetta would like to care for this horse for you until such a time your people can retrieve him."

Rosalie smiled warmly at the man and the jockey, "Would you? I'd be incredibly grateful, it will be a week or so before I can arrange transport."

Both men beamed back at her.

The barbaresco replied, "Re Artú rode his very first Palio for Civetta. He is one of Siena's finest. We would consider it an honor."

The woman gratefully relinquished the reins, leaving the contact information of her associate at Break Maiden, who would arrange transport for Artú.

She kissed both men's cheeks in thanks, speaking for a long moment with the young jockey before the men guided the horse down the track and out of sight.

Rosalie turned and smiled softly at her counterparts, "Well that's convenient. I believe we were off to grab dinner?"

The merry band let out an amused murmur of assent, turning and heading for the streets of Onda.

An hour later, they sat at another massive table in the city's streets, talking, laughing and dining with gusto.

"Jacoppo, cosa significa Epona?" Asked Rosalie in curiosity, both the jockey and the barbaresco had called her Eponina, but it wasn't ringing any bells in Rosalie's Italian vocabulary.

Jacoppo laughed as a troop of young men came drunkenly swaying by, singing a rambunctious tune about the very deity of which she asked.

"Epona was the Roman goddess of horses, travellers, and dreamers." He explained fondly, extending a hand to top off their wine. "It would seem you have garnered the affection of the Siennese."

His head nodded at the young group of men, who were still singing and making sweeping, amorous gestures back at their table.

"The horses of the Palio are deeply loved; it's the jockeys who are distrusted and often disliked." Explained Jacopo, gesturing about with the wine carafe. "Many people witnessed your confrontation with Diamanté. The notion he was going to take his anger out on Artú would be a dark stain upon the reputation of La Pantera and the role of Barbaresco." He continued, "They love you for protecting the animal, and so they give you the pet name of Epona, or Eponina as a sign of affection and appreciation."

Rosalie shook her head softly, "I would have preferred not to earn the nickname."

Jacopo patted her shoulder fondly. "It was a good thing, you've put Pantera under scrutiny. The contrada's next choices for barbaresco will reflect that."

The thought soothed Rosalie's irritation, allowing her to return to the festivities with relish.

Raymond thoroughly enjoyed terrorizing her the rest of the evening. He had cornered her thrice, each time his antics becoming more daring. He had started by simply teasing the edges of her attire, stroking the ticklish spots on the backs of her thighs, making her squirm and giggle, wondering if he was going to take his prize then. He had grinned as he was called away to settle up his bets.

Red next found her delightfully alone in the restaurant's hallway, having just escaped one of Jacopo's talkative daughters. The man had relished dragging her into the nearby phone booth and encompassing her with his broad frame. He had tugged her hair to the side and pulled the zipper of her romper halfway down as he nibbled her neck teasingly earning a string of breathy moans and a squeal of delight from his captive. A loud, strategic knock had waylaid any further exploration, and Red had hastily zipped her back up before goosing her playfully from the booth.

Raymond now had her pinned in a doorway around the side of the restaurant. Her toned legs bracketed one of his thighs, keeping her close as he kissed and caressed her without mercy.

"Raymond." She whimpered, arching her hips into his, willing him to end the agony.

"Tell me what you need." He moaned ardently, sucking her earlobe between his teeth and revelling in the feel of her little hands clawing at his back.

The delighted moan that reached his ears had him gripping her hips tightly and dragging her hips along his thigh.

Rosalie mewled, the action making her knees wobble. "God, Raymond I need- "

A group of youngsters interrupted their fun, making catcalls and wolf whistles as they both groaned in amused frustration.

"Kids these days." Growled Red, throwing a glare their way before pulling the giggling woman back toward their group.

It wasn't until they were back at Stratos's apartment that Rosalie grew weary of their game. She now somehow wanted him to take her lingerie. She was dying to know how, when, and were he would do so.

Raymond's confident face held a predatory grin as she strode into the lounge, effectively cornering him this time.

"To the victor the spoils." She laughed that tinkling laugh, her hands reaching to caress his neck.

Red ached for want of her. His whole body felt like a live wire, crackling and sparking with heat. He wanted to take her and ravage her till they both couldn't stand, but he was closing in on the long game.

What he wanted was one thing, but what he needed, truly, deeply needed was another issue entirely. He could table his wants for a moment longer, the greater prize seemingly within reach.

"Since Civetta not only lost but came in last, I think I should get two prizes." Chuckled Raymond brazenly, stretching his luck as far as it would go.

"Oh is that so?" Laughed Rosalie, "What, are you going to take your fedora back while you're at it?"

"No." He conceded, "I've resigned myself to the fact that I will never get that particular Borsalino back. It belongs with your little turquoise jumpsuit."

Rosalie's eyes danced in good humor, "Then what could I possibly offer you, darling?"

"I want an answer." Red rumbled, tilting his head back to look up at the woman.

She continued stroking his body, slowly, gently, her brow furrowing in confusion. "To what? You haven't asked a question."

Raymond held her eyes masterfully. "What is it that has kept you from me?"

She stopped all movement, her grey eyes widening. "W-what?"

He grasped her small hands, pulling them back down his chest. "We both have our reasons for denying ourselves what we so obviously desire." He crooned, "I know my reason is to keep you safe from what's coming for me, but I don't know yours."

Rosalie hesitated, his request leaving her open and vulnerable. Horace had urged her to pursue the possibility, God knows she wanted to.

"I don't want to hurt you." She admitted quietly, "I don't want to be used against you." Her eyes were so heart-warmingly kind as she cupped his cheek. "I want to be with you, very much, but I don't know how we could do that when I could be a terrible liability for you."

"My darling girl, you are already a liability for me." Raymond sighed in relief, Dembe was right, her response was better than he could have possibly imagined. She had no qualms about his life as a criminal, held no concerns about her safety with him.

Her only worry was a romantic relationship could make her a point of weakness for him.

Raymond could work with that.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, suspense burning him from the inside out.

"Of course." Rosalie said automatically, the instantaneous response taking even herself by surprise.

"Do you believe I can and would do anything I felt necessary to keep you safe?"

Her eyes held his confidently. "I do."

"Then why aren't we together?" His voice stressed the question, as though they were committing a cardinal sin by denying themselves what they so obviously needed. The deep green eyes watched her avidly, waiting for her response.

"I'm afraid, Raymond, terrified, really." She confessed, her head tilting down, the slate eyes unable to meet his. "You and I know better than anyone how dangerous this could be."

Red lobbied passionately. "Give me a chance to prove I can protect you, that I can be something good and kind and loving, for you."

The young woman's brow furrowed and she lifted her soft hands to cradle his face, guiding his gaze to hers. "Raymond, there is not a doubt in my mind that you already are all of those things." She whispered, willing him to see what she saw in him. He should believe he was something good and kind and loving regardless of her involvement. He didn't need to prove anything to her.

The conviction in her voice convinced Raymond he was right to pursue her.

He had a seemingly boundless, formidable empire and a vicious reputation. He could protect her, care for her, love her better than any other. Given the chance, he was certain he could calm her fears and give her a life as vibrant and wild as she was.

There was just one last question he needed answered.

"What if I told you everything about me is a lie?" He asked, wording the question most carefully.

Rosalie shrugged nonchalantly, "I would say that makes two of us."

She wasn't a stranger to a murky past, the keeper of one herself. She would never begrudge him his secrets the same way he wouldn't begrudge her hers.

"It wouldn't bother you?" prodded Red, "If we were together, in every sense of the word, could you honestly say you wouldn't need to know the truth about who I was, someday?"

"Yes" she said sincerely, rounding the chair and perching herself comfortably on his lap.

She continued, "Does your past change the way you feel about me? Does it somehow diminish your interest, your desire? Does it lessen how much you care for me?"

The statement had the man gaping at her, a lone brow quirked in astonishment.

No one, not one single person had ever responded to this question in such a way.

"No." He said, his deep voice firm and sincere.

"Then, and I hate to sound so cavalier, who you were is of very little consequence to me."

Rosalie's thumb traced his jaw tenderly, her eyes softening as her other hand reached up to card through his hair. "I know the man I see every day." She murmured gently.

"I know the man who occupies my bed most nights."

The green eyes flickered heatedly along the delicate line of her shoulders.

The look made her smile warmly. "Surprising though it may be, I know you well."

She continued her gentle caresses, her voice the very definition of sincerity. "I know when your appetite is poor, if I accidentally toss blackberries into my oatmeal, you will still steal them for me."

The comment made him break out into a wide smile and a devilish chuckle, terribly fond memories of Amsterdam running through his mind.

She warmed to her explanation, "I know you like cashmere, but only in scarves, the linings of gloves, and those sweaters I got you. I also know you have a soft spot for animals, which you make no attempt to hide."

Her amusement diminished slightly, replaced with something vulnerable and honest. "I know you consider your enemies' families off limits, though you said you have them watched, I know you would never lay a finger on them. I know you're endlessly chivalrous, wooing women with your old fashioned manners and style, whether you intend to or not."

She reached to grasp his hand, cradling the larger appendage in her own small ones.

Raymond watched, enchanted as she lifted it gently, placing a feather light kiss to his palm, her thumb brushing back and forth across the surface.

"I know if there were any such thing as honour among thieves, it would begin and end with you."

Rosalie felt a tightness in her chest as the words washed over the man holding her. She drank in his response, the way his eyelashes fluttered and his whole body seemed to heave a sigh of relief, of happiness.

She placed her cheek in his outstretched hand, sighing contentedly at the way he cupped it so gently, so perfectly.

"I may not know your past, where you were born, or the man you once were. But I know this Raymond Reddington." She insisted, placing her palm to his chest.

"I know you the way a woman should know a lover." Her lips caressed the last word beautifully.

Raymond felt a tremor of delight ripple through his body.

The reaction had Rosalie radiating with warmth and affection in his lap.

"It doesn't matter what your name was, what your name is." She laughed that tinkling laugh, "Howe, Kershaw, Donnelly, whatever you're going by today, I'm enamoured with the man beneath the names."

The man's heart pounded with a steady rhythm of hope. Raymond immediately closed the distance between them, holding Rosalie as tightly as possible to his broad frame. A large hand threaded through her blonde tresses, holding her to him as he kissed her with every ounce of burning hunger he had been holding back.

Rosalie matched his passion, happily moulding to his touch, taking what he freely gave, offering what she had to give.

They stayed in their passionate tangle of lips and tongues for some time, finally breaking the spell when their need for oxygen won out.

"No more games." Raymond gasped, not relinquishing his hold on her in the slightest.

Rosalie nodded, "No more games." she agreed.

"Then you and I are going to pursue this. A relationship. Agreed?"

The request was spoken with such a wonderful finality, it had Rosalie nodding before he could finish.

Raymond claimed her lips again, revelling in the moment of her acquiescence.

Finally, he had her.

The little woman happily wriggled in his grasp, getting as close to him as possible.

A thought occurred to Raymond, and he reluctantly parted from her lips to clarify.

"You do realize this means we are sleeping in our own beds for a while."

Rosalie's crestfallen face actually made the man laugh.

"Why on earth would we do that?" She asked, "We've been sleeping in the same bed all this time."

"Yes, but I intend to do this the right way." He explained prodding the delicate nose which was scrunched at this revolting development.

"We're criminals, we don't have to do anything the 'right' way." She insisted, her tone one of utmost dismay.

"You know that's not true." He laughed, placing a smattering of gentler kisses along her neck.

"Besides," he growled, enjoying the shiver running along her body, "Imagine how good it's going to feel when we finally do return to the same bed."

Rosalie mewled softly, still not convinced of his plan, his mouth distracting her from the issue.

"I still don't see the point in separating if we are going to be dating anyway."

A large hand crept into her curls, fisting the silky strands and gently tugging to expose more of her sensitive flesh to his attention.

"Because…" he sucked on her pulse point, "I have been very much looking forward to seducing you."

A sweet little gasp leapt from her mouth followed by a husky moan.

Raymond committed the sweet spot he'd found to memory and catalogued the noise she made for his enjoyment later.

"I can say with utmost confidence, you've already achieved your goal." she groaned, her hips unconsciously rocking against his pelvis.

"Hmm… perhaps." he chuckled darkly, pressing his rock hard erection against her. "But it's not quite to my satisfaction yet."

Rosalie whimpered at his words, wondering how long he would torment her like this.

"I like a woman to be wet, aching, and trembling with want when I take her to bed." He purred in her ear.

The playful green eyes of Raymond Reddington glinted a dark cunning as they bore down on Rosalie.

Her body did indeed tremble under his confident gaze.

"Hey Rosie, I've got-" Horace walked into the lounge, stopping in his tracks at the sight of the pair in a rather compromising position.

"New rule." Grumbled Rosalie, "Knock before entering."

"New rule." Horace roared a barking laugh, "Don't get it on in shared spaces when there are literally dozens of people in the house."

A parade of people started filtering into the room, forcing the amorous pair to separate.

Rosalie complained at length, garnering a wink and a sly smile from her companion.

Later that night…

Raymond let Rosalie think she was safe.

She had gone to bed a short while earlier, the men had continued to celebrate in the lounge.

Red was now the last man standing, Dembe having gone to bed moments earlier.

Rosalie had watched him carefully as she left, the obvious question in her gaze.

He had allowed her to think he forgot his earlier promise.

He most certainly had not.

The criminal purely lay in wait, drinking his scotch patiently and allowing her to be lulled into a false sense of security.

As the clock struck midnight, Red stood and set his glass on the desk with a heavy thunk .

His slow, deliberate footsteps echoed down the long hallway to Rosalie's room.

Part of him wanted her to hear him coming, to hear the sound of him prowling toward her in the dark.

Another part of him wanted her to be taken by surprise, to wake to his broad frame poised above her with no means of escape.

Both were incredibly titillating fantasies, stirring the man's cock to life.

As Raymond reached the door, he stopped to listen. No noise could be heard within.

He stealthily reached out and grasped the handle, turning it silently and opening the door without a sound.

Rosalie lay atop the blankets, sleeping peacefully in an emerald green silk negligee.

Raymond flashed a predatory grin, closing the door silently behind him. He toed off his shoes before stalking toward the sleeping figure on the bed.

Making his way to the foot of the bed, Raymond carefully knelt on the mattress.

Slowly, his hand traced a burning trail up one of her legs.

The sleeping woman let out a pleased mew, wriggling slightly beneath him.

Red smiled in the dark, leaning down to place his warm lips along her knee and up her thigh, nipping the supple flesh as he continued his trek.

His large hands bracketed her outer thighs, sliding painstakingly slowly up the soft skin.

Rosalie stirred as he reached the swell of her hips, his hands gliding easily beneath the hem of her negligee.

The tickling sensation of his fingertips along her sensitive skin had the woman jolting awake with a gasp.

Rosalie was inundated with the masculine scent and palpable presence of one Raymond Reddington.

The man knelt poised over her, his fingers swirling teasing circles over her hips.

"Raymond…" she hummed, hoping he wasn't just a dream.

"I believe you have something of mine." Red growled, the rumble of his voice vibrating deliciously along her every nerve ending.

He had come to claim what was his.

His hands continued their teasing strokes as he cocked his head at her.

"Tell me, darling, are you wanting?"

"Yes, Raymond." She breathed, watching in fascination as his wandering inched the hem of her night dress slowly upward.

"Do you ache for me?"

"Yes." She admitted readily, any pride a forgotten entity as the garment's edge hovered precariously, just barely covering her panties.

Red's visage turned incredibly dark as he slid a large hand up the back of one of her toned, trembling legs.

"Let's find out if you're as wet as I think you are. Hmm?" Raymond purred, palming her bare ass cheek. He kneaded the pert mound before bending forward and kissing her lips. Her mouth opened to him and her hot little tongue happily danced with his, stroking him in wicked fashion. Red broke the contact, peppering her cheeks with light caresses, then her neck, then the valley between her breasts, before shifting his weight back toward the foot of the bed.

With a groan of longing, Red twitched the hem of the negligee upward, exposing the prize he had spent all day thinking about.

Rosalie let out a soft squeal of surprise at being all but bared to his lascivious attention. She reached instinctively to cover herself, but a large, powerful hand snatched her wrist before she could shield herself.

Raymond's eyes burned into her as he gently tilted her hand upward, placing his lips to her palm and wrist. "No." He commanded in a soft, deadly voice.

The sound flitted through the woman's mind, bending her to his whim. She nodded minutely, relaxing her body and opening to his exploration.

The man practically purred his approval, kissing her wrist once more before placing the limb gently to the side.

Rosalie's breath was coming in shivering gasps and her nerves sparked as Red settled between her legs.

When Raymond looked up to meet her gaze, she saw his pupils were blown wide and there was a wildfire lurking in their depths as he leaned forward.

Without taking his eyes off of hers, Raymond placed a scorching, teasing kiss to the snow white garment.

Rosalie couldn't hold back a shocked squeal at feeling his hot breath and his lips brush against her. "R-Raymond" She exhaled shakily, her hips bucking at the unexpected action.

An animalistic growl rumbled through Red's chest as he felt her quake beneath him. He nuzzled the lace adoringly, drawing another helpless moan from her throat. Raymond scented her arousal through the minuscule slip of lace, his mouth watering at his future plans for the sweet little mound.

Red felt his resolve teetering on a razor's edge and pulled away from the valley of with no small amount of effort. He tugged the hem of her negligee back down, hiding the tempting triangle from his sight.

Returning to the purpose of his visit, the hand palming her derrière shifted, a finger sneaking beneath the band of her lingerie before pulling the tiny slip of lace past her curves in one swift movement.

The motion elicited a surprised gasp from Rosalie as she felt the cool evening air ghost along her suddenly bared sex.

Raymond cupped the backs of her thighs and lifted her effortlessly, shifting her further up the bed.

Rosalie voiced her despair at the loss of contact. Her chin lifted, seeking him out as he laid her back amongst the pillows.

Red leaned into the action, languidly exploring her mouth to his heart's content as she settled into the plush surface.

Again he pulled away, his face a heated, devilish smirk. The green eyes held hers without blinking as Raymond's warm hands slid along the soft expanse of her thighs, his fingers curling around the minuscule garment hidden beneath the hem of her night gown.

He shimmied the item further down her limbs, moaning brokenly when the alabaster panties came into view, completely parted from their previous companion.

He memorized their every detail, the cut, the intricate lace pattern, the startling colour contrast between the fabric and the woman's skin.

Rosalie lifted her feet, her lips parted in a small 'o' of aroused disbelief as Red claimed the token of her affection. He skirted the white lace all the way down her lovely legs before finally dangling it from one finger for her viewing pleasure.

It was certainly an erotic sight, the Concierge of Crime holding her minuscule piece of lingerie possessively. Raymond eyed her steadily as he brought the scrap of lace to his lips.

Rosalie watched with a tiny gasp of intrigue as the man kissed the lace. The scent of her arousal hung heavy in the air again, stirring Raymond to ever-increasing flights of fantasy.

"You are a wet, wanton little thing, aren't you Rosalie?"

His voice was even deeper, growling and gravelled as his attentive gaze burned along her skin.

Rosalie mewed piteously, the valley between her legs throbbing without mercy. The blonde head couldn't help but nod, a vibrant blush staining her cheeks.

Fuck .

Red hadn't expected that despondent little nod. He was quickly becoming enthralled with how responsive she was.

The confirmation of her need spoke to the primal foundations of his body. The virile man within wanted desperately to heed the call, to satisfy her every yearning desire until she wanted for nothing and no one but him.

The fathoms-deep grey eyes held his imploringly. She was aching so perfectly, the pang of arousal in her body outstripped all else.

"I know," he purred his sympathy, the quivering of her thighs beckoning to him. "We've waited so long, and no amount of… self indulgence has been enough to satisfy, has it, my little dove?"

Rosalie shook her head quietly, her wide eyes shining brightly as another tingle of arousal skated along her body. She was rapidly becoming attached to his chosen endearment. Something about it made her feel safe, adored, and oh so very warm.

Raymond advanced slowly, bringing his body flush with hers, his bulk pinning her beneath him.

Instinctively, Rosalie wrapped her legs around his waist, wriggling in pleasure at the feel of his heavy weight settling on top of her.

Red wrapped an arm around her, the other braced against the soft surface of the bed. His hand dropped to grasp one rounded globe of her backside, arching her hips up into his.

The action brushed her bare sex against the man's cloth-covered erection, pulling a needy cry from the woman's throat.

"Let's take care of that, hmm?" Red purred enticingly, nibbling her neck as he rut the length of his cock against her hot, wet center.

Rosalie gasped, arching her hips to meet his. "Please, Raymond."

Her soft, sweet voice was going to be the death of him. The man would burn the world to the ground for the sake of hearing her repeat the request.

'Please, Raymond.'

It made his shaft twitch in delighted agony.

His hips rolled expertly against Rosalie's, teasing her lust-addled body with what she wanted.

He wouldn't give it to her, not yet anyway.

Raymond had been honest when he said he was looking forward to seducing her. He wanted to woo her, to properly bed her, to earn the right to claim every quaking inch of her for his own.

Red increased his efforts, shifting so his stocky thighs were flush with hers, spreading them wide so he could further his assault on her sensitive flesh.

Rosalie writhed at the added pressure, her body creeping ever closer to release. Her breathing was shallow and laboured, her entire being concerned only with achieving their climax.

"God, Raymond." She mewled, running her hands up and down his broad chest, taking comfort in his solidity.

Raymond growled in pleasure when he felt her arousal wetting through his trousers. The sweet scent of sex clung to the air, spurring him on.

Red could not recall being so invested in a dry hump since he had been a horny teen. He grinned at the ridiculous thought, thinking the younger version of himself would be appalled to know he'd bypassed a wet and wanting woman's plea to be fucked for the sake of dating.

Rosalie's gasps sped up, tearing all other thought from Red's mind.

She was getting close, her desperate need finally being tended to.

Without warning, Raymond pushed up off the bed, removing himself entirely from her writhing body.

" No " whined Rosalie, her body crying out for the stimulation it had lost.

His eyes bored into hers as he lifted a familiar looking item from the foot of the bed, dropping it gently in Rosalie's lap.

It was her towel from their morning altercation in the shower.

Raymond leaned into her sweet, shocked face.

"You are a formidable little hellion," he told her fondly, "A merciless, incredible tease. But…"

His voice was reverent as he eyed her body openly. "Turnabout is fair play, my dear."

Red reached a hand down to thumb the tight nipple straining against the silk of her night gown, making Rosalie hiss in pleasure.

"I'm out of reasons to behave, Rosalie." He growled heatedly, watching his thumb pluck at the little nub. "You've gotten yourself into quite the predicament."

Rosalie purred her delight at his words, arching wantonly into his touch.

Red continued, "I'm going to take you, charm you, seduce you as I see fit. I'm going to do so until there is no question in your mind that I am the man you want. Agreed?"

"Yes" she mewled, her body bowing toward him, willing him to tease her more.

"Eight O'Clock tomorrow, pet." He murmured gently, reaching to stroke her cheek.

"It's a date."

He turned and strode out of the room without another word, leaving Rosalie panting and utterly shell-shocked in his wake.


	15. Lover Boy

_Stratos's Apartment, Siena - July 3rd, 1999 _

Rosalie Øllegaard was in a terribly good mood, all things considered.

The woman sauntered down the hall of the Siena flat humming softly to herself and thinking about the excitement of the previous day.

She could feel the smooth silk of her short nightgown swish back and forth across her bare skin, bringing her mind back to one exciting event in particular.

Raymond Reddington had snuck into her room, teased her into a frenzy, and robbed her not only of speech, but of her panties.

If she focused, Rosalie could still recall the feel of his heavy shaft rocking against her sensitive flesh without mercy, driving her right to the edge.

God was _that _a thrilling and excruciating interlude _. _

Rosalie had tossed and turned for hours afterward, trying to key down her roaring libido. She finally succumbed to her need in the early morning light, rocking against her trembling fingers until she was gasping and writhing beneath the sheets, her mind firmly fixed on the man down the hall.

The young innkeeper grinned at the thought of her wanton behavior, a small giggle escaping her chest without warning. She planned to regale her early morning activities to Red as soon as possible, looking forward to the predatory look which would darken his handsome features.

No, her cheery demeanor had nothing to do with her upcoming date with Raymond Reddington, nor his late night panty raid…or at least, that's what she told herself.

Thankfully, Rosalie reached her bedroom without encountering anyone. The house was quiet. The late-night festivities had left many of their household sleeping in, which suited her just fine.

She strode casually into her bedroom, hanging her towel on the hook before wandering about the room to begin packing some of her things. They would be leaving Siena the following day for Greece, as Stratos had business which needed Raymond's attention.

Rosalie was pleased at this, for she very much liked the debonaire Greek and his boyish charm. He was endlessly polite and terribly funny, a true joy to be around.

More than anything, however, she loved seeing the obvious friendship between Stratos and Raymond.

They were quite the sight, chortling and swaggering about like a pair of bantam cocks in a hen yard. The women wandering about Siena certainly took notice, giggling and whispering behind their fans to each other as the men dealt, bet, and bribed the week away.

Rosalie couldn't blame them.

The men were certainly handsome, not to mention their old fashioned charm. Their gate and stature held an aura of power and masculinity which beckoned the attention of every female in a few block's radius. Rosalie had pointed this out one afternoon, laughing merrily as Stratos preened under the comment.

There were endless stories being bandied about between the two. Most were meant to tease or embarrass each other for the group's enjoyment, however, some were truly wild and enthralling. Rosalie had listened to each and every one, giggling at their shenanigans and commiserating with their foibles.

Another giggle escaped her as she pulled out her overnight bag and set it on the bed. From the corner of her eye, Rosalie noticed something out of place.

A white card lay propped up on the bed, plain and unassuming.

The woman plucked it from the coverlet with a wide grin.

Written in a familiar, neat script, was a note from Raymond.

_Third Bay, Fifth Shelf, White Bow. _

_-R _

Rosalie sighed excitedly, the message sending her scurrying for the lounge.

Raymond's deep, soothing drawl could be heard within, making the little woman's stomach flip as she silently turned the handle.

The quiet room was glowing pink in the morning sun, casting a rosy light over its sole occupant.

Red sat behind the large desk, talking with an associate, pinching the bridge of his nose. His shoulders were tense and his usually warm voice had become clipped and sharp.

A rueful smile twitched at Rosalie's lips. He looked awfully surly.

An overwhelming playfulness came over her, determined to give the man something to smile about.

She strode casually toward the third bay of books, garnering his undivided attention.

Raymond eyed the scantily-clad form as she sauntered along without a care in the world, his voice dropping lower of its own accord while he watched her hips sway this way and that.

She was in the same negligee as the night before, and from the looks of it, hadn't sought out any lingerie after he had unceremoniously stolen hers. The knowledge made his cock twitch.

Rosalie stopped in front of the requisite bay of books and cast her eyes upward. There, on the fifth shelf, was a thick tome with a white ribbon tied in a neat bow.

She reached up onto her tiptoes, wiggling slightly as she tried to reach the book.

Raymond couldn't help the small smile playing on his lips.

"No, go ahead, I'm listening," he lied to the man on the other line. Red was far too preoccupied with the hem of the negligee inching its way north, ready to give him a long-awaited peak at the prize beneath.

Having a good idea where his eyes were, Rosalie spread her legs minutely, enjoying the hell out of the sharp inhale which issued from behind her.

'_Damnable little minx, _' he thought. He longed for a glimpse of the little pink treasure residing just out of view. Tilting his head to the side, Red leaned till he was all but lying his head on the desk, mentally willing the garment to move just a fraction of an inch higher.

Rosalie let out an amused scoff as she realized there was no way she could reach the book. She danced about on the tips of her toes, attempting to gain purchase on the elusive item, blissfully unaware she was driving a certain fugitive out of his mind.

Taking pity on her fruitless pursuits and his throbbing erection, Raymond stood, leaving the phone face up on the desk. His associate continued to blather on about some nonsense issue in Singapore while Red's attention shifted to more exciting possibilities.

"May I assist?" He rumbled, appearing behind her and catching her off guard.

Rosalie leapt away from the shelf, bouncing off his solid chest. "Oh, um, yes. Please." She added, her expression sheepish.

Rather than reaching up for the book, the man bent down and wrapped his arms about her thighs. Rosalie squealed her surprise when he lifted her skyward.

Her hands dropped to his broad shoulders, stabilizing herself with his solid frame.

Raymond smiled up at her, enjoying the feel of the soft, warm bundle in his arms.

Rosalie looked down, pleased to find him in a better mood. Forgetting her task for the moment, she bent and placed her lips to his. Her nimble fingers stroked through his hair, sending goosebumps along his neck.

Raymond responded in kind, deepening the kiss and sucking her bottom lip between his teeth.

The action pulled a tremulous noise from his captive, her hands moving to run up and down his back and shoulders.

Red hummed his contentment, swiping her kiss-swollen lips with his tongue.

Rosalie opened to him, moaning when the muscle danced playfully with hers.

"_Red_?" A voice could be heard calling quietly from the phone.

"He's busy." The woman sighed against his mouth wrapping her legs possessively about the man's waist.

Red chuckled darkly and pressed her into the bookshelf. His mouth continued to explore hers, enjoying each little mew and sigh he garnered along the way.

"I take it you found my note?" He questioned heatedly, carrying his lips down her neck.

"Y-yes," she stammered as his tongue flicked languidly back and forth over the spot where her neck and shoulder met.

"_Raymond… _" He had found a sweet spot, and the woman positively squirmed in praise of his discovery.

"Oh, you like that, _don't you_?" His sharp teeth nipped the same spot as a cascade of goosebumps rippled along her skin.

"_Yes _" She hissed her pleasure as his warm hands gripped the backs of her thighs. The tips of his fingers were so close to her sex, it made the wet little alcove throb painfully.

"You're burning up, little dove." Red purred knowingly, his fingers digging into the giving flesh of her bare backside.

He was trying like hell to hold himself in check, but her body was calling his name. He could feel the heat rolling off her, and the knowledge her panties were tucked safely in his jacket pocket only added to his delirious desire.

"..._Ray_?" came the voice from the phone.

"Duty calls," pouted the woman, her tongue still rolling sensually against his.

"It can damn well wait." Insisted Raymond, fully intent on the task at hand. He deepened the kiss, groaning his pleasure when Rosalie nipped him in response.

Her little hands stroked his neck, helping them both to cool their ardour. Slowly, they shifted to a softer, gentler exploration.

Rosalie's nose nudged Raymond's chin, exposing his jaw and throat to her affection. She peppered the stubble with soft kisses, humming her contentment as she did so.

The affectionate gesture soothed him further, quieting the roar of his arousal to a soft purr.

Red realized as a book shifted behind her, he was rapidly developing a habit of pinning the woman to any and all available surfaces. The thought made him laugh, the warm sound vibrating against Rosalie's lips pleasantly.

"What, pray tell, has you so amused?" She asked, reaching a hand up to card lazily through his hair.

"I seem to have developed a fondness for backing you into hard objects and ravishing you against them." He noted, shifting more of her weight to his arms. "Are you uncomfortable?"

Rosalie snorted her amusement. "I am perfectly fine, and as a matter of record, I very much _like _being stuck between you and any available hard place."

"Is that so?" He barely held his intrigue, eyeing her rosy lips and pleasantly disheveled curls with a serious facade. "I didn't realize you enjoyed such antics."

Her long lashes batted coyly up at him. "If you stop pinning me to things, Raymond Reddington, I'll be terribly cross with you."

Red chuckled, brushing his nose against hers. "Duly noted, little dove. We're still on for tonight?"

The dark grey eyes sparked with excitement. "I'll be there with bells on."

She reached for the book with the bow above her head, pulling it out gingerly.

"_And _a wealth of knowledge about..." she glanced at the cover, "...ranunculus?" Her amusement grew by leaps and bounds.

The quip made Raymond laugh, a deep, sultry sound that rumbled joyously against the young innkeeper's skin.

"Your wit is dazzling, but I have to see to a bit of business today." He grumbled, turning and shifting her carefully back to the floor.

"Something thrilling, no doubt, judging by your phone call." She teased, gesturing at the phone still lying on his desk.

The associate still hadn't given up, echoing Reddington's name again as both fugitives sniggered.

Rosalie slid down Red's tall frame, her night dress riding up ever so slightly.

Raymond made the mistake of looking up into the mirror hanging on the wall behind them, catching an unadulterated peek at one firm, rounded cheek of her backside. The sight made him ache all over again. He silently cursed his lot in life as he stared dazedly at the expanse of pristine, soft skin.

_Damn it all to hell. _

Raymond could feel his traitorous body responding all too readily to the view.

Another giggle escaped Rosalie as she attempted to shift her attire. She moved to shoo Red's hand away, but he dodged her expertly, his large palm sneaking past to cup the exposed mound.

Rosalie arched into his grip, a soft mew issuing from her throat.

The man grunted his desire, watching his masculine fingers curl into the delectable curve, gripping it possessively.

"I can't take much more of this." He vowed, eyes never leaving the exquisite view in the mirror. He kneaded the supple curve once more before reluctantly shifting the hem of her negligee back down and kissing her temple.

"I'm picking you up at seven." He decided.

"How about six?" Rosalie joked, hoisting her book more securely in her arms.

"Perfect." Red responded casually, smirking at the surprised look on her face. "It will make the tedium of today go by so much faster."

Rosalie beamed at him, reaching on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. "It's a date." She sighed.

"Go, read your book, have some coffee and relax today." He advised, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

Rosalie's eyes softened as she looked at him, his suggestion sounding delightful. "I'll bring you a cup." She offered, heading for the door.

Red nodded his thanks and picked up the burner phone with a sigh. "Sorry Max, dozed off for a moment. You were saying?"

Rosalie stifled a laugh as she stepped out into the hall, catching part of his poor cover story.

She set about returning to her room, intent on getting ready for the day. She admired the book's cover while she walked. It held illustrations of several flowers including bluebell, lilac, and tulips.

The young woman broke out into another grin as she tugged on the bow, eager to see why Raymond had lead her to this particular text.

Rosalie padded into the room, nose in her book, heading for her wardrobe; the woman had just stepped over the threshold when something caught her attention.

She took one step backward out of the closet to see a large assortment of flowers in a tall vase waiting on the dressing table.

The sight elicited a delighted gasp from Rosalie, who wasted no time in crossing the room to examine the beautiful array.

It was truly a gorgeous arrangement, brimming with black-eyed white anemone, lush silverston roses, and palest blush ranunculus. The flowers were magnificent, creating a unique and fragrant bouquet unlike anything Rosalie had received before.

The book Raymond had given her suddenly made much more sense.

It was an encyclopedia of sorts, showing illustrations of hundreds of flowers, various information about the genus, its uses, and the meaning behind each bloom.

Another white card was tucked in the page titled, 'Anemone.'

_My Dear Rosalie, _

_A little token to entertain you in my absence. _

_Looking forward to tonight, _

_-R _

The note made Rosalie's entire body flush and her insides squirm excitedly.

Before she could settle into her intriguing task, Rosalie dressed and went to grab a large cup of coffee per Raymond's suggestion.

Horace and Dembe were already eating breakfast in the kitchen. Both men grinned knowingly at the chipper woman when she appeared.

"Good morning, boys." She practically sang, pinching Horace's side and giving Dembe a playful peck on the cheek.

"What have I said about trying to corrupt Dembe?" A deep voice accused from the doorway.

Rosalie squeaked, turning and beaming at Raymond, who practically prowled into the kitchen. She pulled out another cup and poured him some coffee, holding it out with a smile. "Long time no see." She crooned.

He took the cup gratefully, taking a long sip of the hot liquid as he flashed her a wink.

Rosalie glanced surreptitiously up at him. "I forgot to say so earlier, because, well…"

"My tongue was in your mouth?" Red supplied in a low purr, cocking his head confidently. He had rather enjoyed their rambunctious interlude against the bookcase.

Horace looked up, utterly appalled, as Dembe's shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Rosalie blushed scarlet and nodded, her dark eyes dancing with mirth. "I wanted to say thank you for the book, and the flowers, they're absolutely exquisite."

Raymond's lips twitched into a warm smile as he wrapped himself around her feminine frame. "I'm glad they're to your liking. I trust you've unearthed the purpose of the book?"

"I have, you clever man. You certainly know how to keep a girl occupied."

"Sweetheart, you have no idea." He laughed, thoroughly enjoying the double entendre. His eyes flitted up to meet the dark, chastising orbs of Rosalie's guard. "Give her enough books to build a castle." Raymond lied smoothly, his eyebrows quirking upward as he gave the man an innocent nod.

While still very much in the guard's line of view, Red met Rosalie's gaze and mouthed emphatically, '_ Not at all what I meant.' _

The innkeeper covered her mouth, trying desperately to smother her laughter.

"You'll have to tell me what you've learned tonight." He continued, enjoying her amusement.

"Is there going to be a quiz?" Rosalie quipped, tentatively nuzzling his jaw, unsure how he would feel about showing such affection in front of the boys.

Sensing her train of thought, Raymond leaned forward, encouraging such familiarity. "Multiple choice-" his breath hitched as she placed her lips to his pulse point, "and a few essay questions."

Horace mimed vomiting into his bowl, earning a scowl from his charge.

Waylaying the upcoming battle, Red refilled Rosalie's cup and nudged it toward her.

"Read your book and relax today." He reminded, "I'll be here at 6 to pick you up."

"Is this your way of telling me to behave?" She teased with an impish eyebrow raise.

Red grinned, kissing her once more before shooing her back toward her coffee. "Ready, Dembe?"

The young man turned and nodded, ruffling Rosalie's curls before striding after him.

The innkeeper quickly snatched her coffee and headed for her room.

"Rosie," began Horace, feeling he should talk with her about Reddington.

"_No _" She responded merrily, pattering out of the kitchen.

"No?" Horace called after her, leaning back in his chair.

"No." She agreed, "I have a puzzle to solve, you have bacon to eat. We'll talk on the way to Jacopo's for lunch." Her voice echoed down the long hallway before the man heard the snap of her door closing.

The bodyguard shook his head, laughing reluctantly. The little hellcat was on a mission, and she'd be damned if he got in her way.

In the quiet of her room, Rosalie finished the last of her packing, leaving out clothes for the following day, any necessities, and most importantly, her dress for that night. The opaque garment bag hung over the door to the wardrobe, waiting patiently.

A knock sounded on the door, followed by Stratos' voice. "May I come in?"

The woman answered in the affirmative, as the older man strode casually into the room. "Good morning, Stratos," she smiled warmly, "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you." His boyish gaze turned to the bouquet on the dressing table, "I see Red has taken to the task of pursuing you with gusto."

Rosalie blushed, carefully bringing the large arrangement to the console table at the end of the bed. "He has, he's been very thoughtful."

Stratos beamed at the blooms, reaching out to cup one of the pale purple roses. "Red always has been a hopeless romantic." He chuckled roguishly, "I was sad to hear you two won't be joining us for dinner in Onda tonight; but upon hearing the reason why, I was terribly pleased."  
The young woman tittered nervously, "Yes, we have a bit of a prior engagement."

The statement made Stratos laugh heartily. "From what I've heard, it's been a long time coming."

"My goodness, do Dembe and Horace do anything but gossip like little hens while Raymond and I are distracted?" She asked, garnering another laugh from him.

"No, and you two have been very...distracted while you've been here." teased Stratos, "I have learned a great many things."

Rosalie shook her head for his amusement.

"I am glad you two are pursuing a bit of romance." The man murmured thoughtfully, still eyeing the flowers. "I've known Red for quite some time, but I have yet to see him have this simple joy others are so easily afforded."

Rosalie's eyes softened at the statement, unable to school her expression any longer. "I'm terribly nervous." She confided in a quiet voice.

Stratos dropped his hand to his pocket, grinning broadly at her expression. "Raymond loves puzzles. Intricacies and duality are endlessly appealing to him, as they are part of him. This comes out in spades when he is showing affection for someone. He will learn you. Will know your every want, what it takes to win your heart, to earn your trust. From what I understand, you are cut from the same cloth."

"Oh?" she asked, not sure what he meant.

"Dembe has intimated you have the same proclivity for knowing the man's wants before he gives them voice."

A pleased smile broke across Rosalie's face, confirming the tale told by Red's bodyguard.

Stratos's eyes softened at her reaction, finding it quite endearing. "I thought so. You have nothing to worry about piccola, you will be in the best of hands. If anyone is worthy of such a lover, it's Reddington."

Rosalie's cheeks flushed a vibrant pink as she took in his words.

"Now, being my clever self, I have unearthed where Red is taking you." Chortled Stratos in a conspiratorial tone, "Do you have a gown?"

Rosalie nodded with a small laugh, striding over to the wardrobe and unzipping the garment bag, nervously awaiting the man's verdict.

Stratos loped gracefully over with a look of boyish delight. He reached out a hand to touch the smooth silk, a deep chuckle building in his chest. "Oh, piccola," he sighed, reaching an arm around Rosalie's shoulders, "Try not to kill him, will you? I very much enjoy working with the man."

Rosalie's eyes widened fretfully, but Stratos reassured her, "I only jest, it is perfect for tonight."

He zipped the bag closed, still chortling to himself. Raymond would certainly have his work cut out for him with the young woman. Stratos wasn't sure she even realized how much the beautiful gown was going to torment him.

Stratos stood clapping his hands together once before patting Rosalie's cheek fondly. "I must go assist Red with a bit of business, I'll ensure he's back in time for your date."

Rosalie nodded and thanked him as he strode from the room, leaving her to relax in peace.

Finally, she was able to pull out the book Raymond had given her.

Climbing onto her bed, she took a sip of her coffee before setting the book into her lap and opening it. She turned to the section on anemone, the crisp page showed the flower in a variety of its colors. The ones in the arrangement were alabaster white except for the dark bluish black of its stamen.

According to the book, anemone was symbolic of anticipation, the excitement of what was to come.

The passage made Rosalie smile broadly.

There certainly was a great deal of anticipation for tonight. She was practically vibrating with impatience, willing the clock to move faster.

Rosalie allowed the tip of her finger to trace the illustration in the book before reaching up and touching the real thing. The petals were silky soft and curled ever so slightly upward like little teacups.

Excited to see what other meaning lay within the beautiful bouquet, Rosalie selected another flower at random.

Tucked prominently in the lush bundle were several tea roses Rosalie recognized as Silverstons. Silverston roses were of a pale purple color with a unique silvery hue.

Having grown roses at Break Maiden, Rosalie knew these were incredibly difficult to find. She couldn't help but wonder why Raymond went through all of the trouble of getting them.

Her curiosity roaring to the fore, she turned to the section on roses.

Roses were a classic symbol of love, but there were very different meanings ascribed to each color. White meant innocence, while red meant love and desire. Rosalie thumbed through the colors, finally locating purple.

Purple roses were a symbol of enchantment, of love at first sight.

Rosalie's heart squeezed at the thought.

She had known Raymond was an old fashioned romantic, it was evident in the way he carried himself and how he interacted with women. What she hadn't known was there was a huge difference between observing those behaviors and being on the receiving end of them.

Raymond had taken something as common as flowers before a first date and elevated the whole tradition by choosing blooms that not only looked stunning together, but also had a wealth of meaning laced into them. She was overwhelmed and delighted by the level of intricate detail the man had put into the simple gesture.

She found the symbology of the remaining flowers and greenery without much ado, and by the time she had reached the last one, her eyes were shining with emotion.

She now had a better understanding of why he had been so adamant on dating her. This was who he was, at his very foundations. Raymond was kind, chivalrous, affectionate, and thoughtful. He had been so deliberate on which flowers were in the bouquet and had led her to a book on their meanings so his intentions with her were very clear.

He didn't just want to bed her. He wanted a relationship, in every sense of the word.

He was willing to wait until the moment was right for them, and not one second earlier. He could see their relationship being so much more than just physical desire, and he wanted Rosalie to understand his intent before tonight.

_Raymond Reddington wanted to woo her_, she realized with a grin.

The young woman leaned back into the pillows, gazing in misty affection at the blooms. It was a stunning arrangement, and Raymond had put so much thought and romance into the gesture, it made her heart thrum with appreciation.

She turned and snagged her satellite phone, dialing the familiar number.

Dembe's calm voice echoed over the connection. "Rosalie."

"Dembe, is he already in the meeting?" She asked, nibbling her bottom lip.

"No, we just arrived." He held the phone out to Raymond, "Your lady calls."

His tone was teasing, but the young man immediately stepped out of the vehicle, giving them a moment's privacy.

"The florist didn't sneak anything crude in there like carnations, I hope." The rumbling voice carried through the line, garnering a tinkling laugh from the other end.

"No, no carnations. I just wanted to say thank you again." Her voice was soft and warm, "The flowers are just lovely, and so incredibly thoughtful, and..."

He could hear her fidgeting on the other end.

"And...I just cannot wait for tonight."

The man grinned triumphantly. He had indeed been quite persnickety about the flowers in the arrangement, seeking to tell her of his intentions and his excitement in his own way. The florist had been rather irritated with him by the end of it, truth be told. Raymond had a sneaking suspicion the man didn't get many three a.m. calls demanding silverston roses and silver brunia.

He had still gotten the rare blooms, calling in a favor to an associate from Warsaw. He was terribly pleased she was so appreciative of the gesture as a whole.

"Shall we move it up to five?" He quipped, delighted to hear that tinkling laugh again.

"Yes, please." She sighed, wanting the day to fly by.

Raymond perked up at her immediate agreement, for he hadn't expected it. A fond smile lit his features as he realized he'd been waiting for a partner like this for some time. Someone who didn't question or manipulate their emotions and just voiced what they felt. Someone who was open with their affection and their desire.

His deep chuckle resonated through the connection, making Rosalie bite her lip and grin at the ceiling.

"We've waited long enough, haven't we?" He crooned softly.

"Too long." Rosalie agreed, enjoying the mental picture of Raymond in the sleek black sedan, murmuring intimately into the phone.

Dembe knocked twice on the window, alerting him to the arrival of the other party.

"I'll let you get to your meeting." smiled Rosalie, hearing the telltale noise. "Good luck."

"Until tonight, my dear."

The connection ended and Raymond peered thoughtfully down at the phone.

It had felt so delightfully normal, so incredibly ordinary.

Sending her flowers, kissing her that morning, her calling simply to be sweet and to wish him luck, it made Red's insides squirm pleasantly.

The man wondered if this was what other people experienced on a day to day basis. Having someone of his own was quite nice.

Like the early days of their partnership, Raymond was marveling at how easily he could get used to having Rosalie with him in such a capacity.

Stepping out of the car, he handed the phone back to Dembe. "Would you mind being our detail for tonight? She's much more comfortable when it's just the three of us."

The younger man grinned at him. "Not at all, my friend."

_Stratos's Apartment, Siena - Early Evening _

"Where's Rosalie?" Raymond asked, removing his hat and stepping into the cool kitchen.

Horace's dark eyes glanced up momentarily before returning to his book. "Upstairs getting ready, we got back from Jacopo's an hour or two ago."

"Anything eventful to report?"

Man's tanned face crinkled in amusement. "Not unless you want me to spoil the surprise of her attire tonight, which Rosalie has assured me she will have my left bollock for if I do." He continued, "She and Marquesa were making a few last minute alterations."

Raymond winced. "Is Marquesa the one I have to thank for that damn romper?"

Horace let out a barking laugh. "She certainly had a hand in it."

"My God, I'm going to come back from this date a broken man, aren't I?" Red asked, the joyful tone in his voice incredibly amusing.

The bodyguard looked up at him, his jaw tight and his lips pursed. "Rosalie… Well, she certainly doesn't do anything halfway." He bit back a grin, patting the man on the shoulder before heading to check on his charge.

"She says go with the taupe suit, by the way."

Red nodded, pouring himself a drink before heading upstairs, his heart pounding like a freight train within his chest. He pulled the light suit from the closet, laying it out on the bed before heading for the master bath.

Once he was showered and his libido had keyed down, the man set about getting dressed for their date. As he donned a fresh shirt, he settled into a more purposeful mood.

He and the little blonde down the hall had come a long way to get to this point. It was the culmination of a long year's worth of fighting what now seemed inevitable. She was his, and he was going to prove it tonight.

Raymond had strode confidently over the lines they had drawn, intent on wooing the woman in every sense of the word.

He would become her lover, but his ambitions didn't stop there.

Red wanted to be her closest friend and confidant.

He wanted to convince Rosalie she was safe with him.

He wanted to show her the man he held carefully guarded within, for her to well and truly know him.

He wanted her to see the depths of love to which he was capable.

It was a different Raymond Reddington who donned the suit tonight, and he was determined to win her love in return.

Down the hall, Rosalie fussed in the mirror once more, not entirely convinced of her attire. The dress she chose was daring, even with the modifications. She and Marquesa had shortened the straps to bring the neckline higher, and lowered the split in the leg so her entire hip wasn't on display. She thought the garment fit her very well, she just hoped the fugitive down the hall would like it too.

With a nervous sigh, she grabbed her clutch and headed for the door.

Horace was stood in the doorway, chortling at her fussing about like a hen.

"Oh, shut up." She growled, second guessing the dress all over again. "I've just realized in the past ten minutes, I haven't been on a date in a few years."

"How the hell did you go without a date for several years?"

"It wasn't _several _," Rosalie snipped her pique, "and I was rather busy, mind, building my network and making sure I didn't _die _."

Horace shook his head ruefully, "Imagine, forgoing sex for the sake of business."

"I never said-" Rosalie halted her statement, catching herself before she said something too revealing.

Too late.

"_Really _?" her guard practically howled, his surprise evident. "Florian Armel's sainted pride and joy, a wicked little rapscallion like the rest of us?"

The ridiculous statement made Rosalie burst out laughing.

"You know what? I'm rather proud." Confessed Horace, "I didn't think you had it in you."

Rosalie scowled at this, "What on earth gave you the impression I was such a prude?"

"I…" The bodyguard looked confusedly at her, "I have no idea."

He wrinkled his nose, suddenly looking like someone's old babushka. "Oh saints alive, is this where I find out you're some kind of insatiable she-devil? If I find you and Reddington in every available corner-"

The young woman scoffed indelicately, applying a quick swipe of mascara in the mirror. "There are much more exciting ways to find out I'm an insatiable she-devil. All of which can be avoided by you learning to _knock _."

Horace grinned wolfishly, "Just try not to give the old man a heart attack, ok Rosie?"

Her eyes narrowed moodily at him, "He's not old, and I'm not trying to kill him. _Why _does everyone keep saying that?"

"Could've fooled me," quipped the bodyguard, ignoring the rhetorical question. "With that dress, I could see this evening going either way."

Rosalie looked nervously down at her attire. "Oh no... It's not too much, is it?" She fidgeted about, turning this way and that in the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically.

"The dress is perfect." Soothed Horace, patting her shoulder fondly. He stood beside her, catching her dark eyes in the mirror with his obsidian ones.

"It takes a very particular woman to stand toe to toe with Reddington. The woman wearing this dress? She is the only woman I would believe capable of walking at his side without living in his shadow. It's perfect Rosie."

The young innkeeper rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes misting slightly. "I just want tonight to go well." She confided, her nerves getting the better of her.

Horace nodded knowingly, "It's going to be fine, this is just like those late night excursions you've been engaging in for the past year. The only difference being, this time you _know _you're dating."

The woman laughed at the little jab, patting Horace's cheek in thanks. He was right, she was being ridiculous.

Rosalie's nerves didn't return until it was time to meet Raymond. She strode through the hall toward the staircase, her heart hammering in her chest.

When she descended the stairs into the foyer, it was not to the playful, facetious Raymond Reddington who always accompanied their late-night shenanigans.

This man was someone else entirely.

He looked at her with a new emotion, something honest and impassioned.

They had lowered the barriers separating them, opening the door to the possibility of what they could be, together.

It was a new beginning, frightening and thrilling at the same time.

Raymond understood what Horace had meant the moment Rosalie stepped out onto the top of the stairs.

His gaze travelled hungrily up her form, utterly shell shocked at her beauty.

The dress was a magnificent creation, perfect for an evening out on a warm, Italian summer night. It had a clean, simple cut with no beading or embellishments. A small v neckline cradled her ample breasts while thin, crossing straps left her delicate shoulders on full display.

What truly floored Red was the color. The silky material shone softly, like liquid metal.

It was as if someone had poured rose gold over her form, following the nip of her waist into the full curve of her hips in one uninterrupted river of glimmering fabric. A generous gap parted on one side, allowing a tiny glimpse of her beautiful legs with every step.

The overall effect was positively stunning.

"_Exquisite,_" Raymond breathed, watching her saunter gracefully toward him, a warm smile playing at her lips.

"Too much for a first date?" She asked, dropping her eyes to the garment.

"No." Red assured her, reaching out and pulling her close. A low, rumbling growl snuck out of his throat as he ran the backs of his fingers up and down her waist.

Raymond's adam's apple bobbed as he caught the outline of a tight little nipple perking up against the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight and his thumb immediately sought out the stiff peak, brushing it this way and that.

Rosalie gasped softly, pressing into his outstretched hand

"You're going to torment me all night, aren't you?" He asked, with a grin.

Red couldn't imagine a sweeter form of torture.

"Just a little," sighed Rosalie, her tone playful as she arched closer to his skillful hands.

The drive took only a few minutes, the airstrip they had arrived on earlier that week materializing around them.

"We're taking the jet?" asked Rosalie, her surprise evident.

Raymond cocked his head, smiling serenely at the bird. "We are. I don't know about you, but I have no interest in Jacopo, Stratos, or any other residents of Siena joining us tonight." The green eyes shifted to her, glinting in amused sincerity.

The young woman flushed with pleasure. She had truthfully been worried about such an occurrence, and had hoped Raymond would pick somewhere out of the way, but this…this was unprecedented. The effort he was putting forth to ensure their date was perfect was so overwhelming it made her tummy flutter.

Rosalie's lips broke into a bright smile, "My, my, you've thought of everything haven't you?"

The man beside her let out a sensual chuckle. "I told you last night, I have been looking forward to this for quite some time."

The simple comment made Rosalie's stomach backflip all over again as Red stepped casually from the car.

He came around to her door, opening it in a gentlemanly fashion before holding a hand out to her.

The deep grey eyes moved up his arm, her hand reaching out to grasp the offered support.

The action warmed Raymond from the inside out, urging him to pull her close once she exited the vehicle. "I adore you." He crooned, nuzzling her cheek in open affection while his strong arms snaked around her curvaceous frame.

Rosalie giggled, kissing his cheek gently before looping her arm through his. "The feeling is very much mutual, darling."

The pair moved around the car and headed toward the plane.

Dembe was quietly grinning at his shoes, attempting to give them some semblance of privacy.

Rosalie reached out and threaded her other arm through his. "Come along, sweetheart, you have the unfortunate job of being our third wheel again." Her tone was teasing, and she was glad to see the young bodyguard fall into step with them, laughing softly at her joke.

"I'm happy to assist, but if you start making moon eyes at each other I'm leaving you for the cockpit."

"Too late." Rosalie grinned slyly at the younger man before batting her long lashes at Raymond.

Red simply chuckled, reaching out to thumb the woman's chin.

They ascended the short set of stairs into the jet, laughing merrily. Raymond became distracted halfway up, finally laying eyes on the back of the woman's dress.

The thin straps coming down from her shoulders crossed once before attaching at the waist, leaving the delectable majority of her sunkissed back bared to his gaze.

Dembe prodded his backside impishly, fully aware of what had drawn the man's attention.

Red shrugged, he certainly couldn't be blamed for his pause, the view was unbelievable.

Dembe closed the jet's door before heading quickly for the safety of the cockpit. His knowing eyes flitted softly up to the amorous couple, finding them completely focused on each other as he sequestered himself with the pilot.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I adore Dembe?" Rosalie sighed, glancing about the empty cabin.

Raymond let out a barking laugh. "Perhaps you'd rather he be your date?" The man feigned a pout, determined to turn her attention away from his young, strapping bodyguard.

Rosalie's slender arms snuck around his torso to stroke up and down his back.

"No." She murmured, her voice dropping to a sultry little purr. "I've been waiting for the man in the hat, and no other will do."

The assurance brought a sly smile to Red's lips, made all the more broad by a pair of feminine eyebrows waggling playfully at him.

"That's better," he rumbled, cupping her cheek. His lips met hers, caressing her slowly as he held the woman close.

Rosalie responded in kind, matching his languid strokes and sinking into the warmth of his embrace.

Raymond moaned into her mouth as his hands ran up her back, stroking the expanse of satin skin. He had longed to touch her like this, ached to feel her soft, feminine form beneath his roughened palms.

The soft touches sent shivers along Rosalie's body, coaxing her deeper into his hold. A needy little mew hummed against his lips as her hands wriggled their way beneath his jacket to run over his chest and back.

He felt her smile against his mouth when she bumped his firearm, the action reminding him of something.

"I hesitate to ask where you've hidden yours this time." He growled, running his hands along her torso. Surely, there was nowhere for it to go?

Rosalie but her lip, "I- I don't have mine tonight, there was no possible way I could hide it under this." She confessed, adding, "I do have a few knives hidden on me, but I'm trusting you to keep me safe tonight."

The innocent little statement stroked something primal in Red. He liked the idea of her putting her safety in his hands, very much. The man leaned in and kissed her again, his body humming with masculine pride.

The plane jolted them slightly as it taxied, preparing for takeoff.

Red's arms tightened around Rosalie's unsteady form, examining her rosy lips and hazy eyes.

Reluctantly, they untangled themselves and moved toward their seats.

Rosalie stopped and pulled two glasses from the bar. "Let's have a drink shall we? I want to hear about your day."

The simple comment brought a bright smile to Raymond's features, and with scotch in hand, he regaled her with the events ofhis meeting with Stratos.

The flight was short, only a half hour and they were beginning their descent into wherever Red was taking her.

As they exited the plane for the comfort of the waiting sedan, Rosalie couldn't figure out where they were. The signs at the little airstrip were all still in Italian, however nothing gave the name of the place.

Raymond caught her looking about and laughed, "All in good time, my dear," and ushered her into the car.

As Rosalie slid gracefully into her seat, her dress parted to give Red an unfair peek of her thigh, shimmering and silky soft in the evening light.

"Is everything alright, Raymond?" Rosalie questioned innocently, noticing the placement of his eyes and his shortened breathing.

"I'm trying to think of every available reason not to ditch Dembe and run away with you to some hideaway in the cliffs." He joked in an undertone, closing the car door only to reappear on the other side, pulling the woman across the backseat so she was nestled against his side.

Rosalie laughed when his large hand palmed her hip possessively. "Where's a blacksite when you need it, hmm?" she purred, leaning to kiss his chin.

The comment made them both laugh. A blacksite would certainly be ideal for what they wanted.

Raymond hummed his enjoyment, pulling her tighter and dipping his lips to meet hers. The soft, warm mouth melded into his instantly, matching his sensual rhythm, coaxing his arousal back to the fore.

They were too busy kissing and nuzzling each other to notice much of the Italian landscape as they were driven toward their destination.

Dembe cleared his throat when the car pulled up to a large stone building perched on a cliff overlooking the sea.

Rosalie giggled, righting Raymond's attire, as she had at one point been using his tie for leverage.

The man smirked for her good humor, allowing her every whim. When he was once again presentable, he stepped out of the car and held a hand out to his date.

She took it gently, rising out of the car to stand beside him, her features alight with excitement.

The young valets gawped appreciatively at the woman, but Raymond was thrilled to find her eyes were only for him. Even Dembe, whom she adored, got little more than a passing glance as he lead her into the building.

The restaurant's owner greeted them at the door, guiding them straight through the building and out onto the back veranda.

The sight stole the breath from Rosalie's body.

The veranda showcased an unrivaled view of the sea and the nearby cliffs. The pristine blue waters twinkled in the evening light, and a warm orange glow was cast over the whole scene.

The young woman turned to gape at Raymond, whose eyes were glued to her, taking in every nuance of her expression.

"Raymond, this is magnificent." She breathed stepping into his arms and kissing him softly.

The man leaned into the affection with a chuckle. "Shall we head to our table?" He asked, shifting to the side so she could see what was behind him.

Rosalie let out a surprised gasp upon seeing the beautiful cliffs, which held a spacious dining room within the natural opening of a large cavern. The room was dotted with small tables covered in pristine white linens. There, tucked in the outer corner of the cliff and away from prying eyes, was an intimate setting overlooking the sea.

"Oh, Raymond." She cooed, taken aback by the unique and beautiful space.

Red preened at her awed expression, taking her hand and placing it gently in the crook of his arm.

The pair took the stone steps casually, enjoying the trek down to the cliff side. Once they reached the cavern, they were led through the bustling crowd to the private, secluded grotto in which their table had been set.

There on the table was a miniature of the flowers Red had sent her, flanked by two tall candles.

Raymond pulled Rosalie's chair out for her, ensuring she was comfortably seated before taking his place across from her

"Raymond, this is absolutely stunning."

He smiled as he settled in and ordered a few bottles of wine. "We're in Polignano a Mare, a darling little sea-side gem in Southern Italy." He divulged, looking wistfully out at the view. "This limestone grotto overlooks the Adriatic Sea, and offers some of the most incredible Apulian cuisine you'll ever find."

His green eyes shifted to her, the affection bright in their depths. "This is a natural grotto, not man made." He leaned forward in his seat, taking her hand in his and stroking his thumb lazily back and forth over her fingers. "People have been using it for important events since the early 1700's. It's an old, natural wonder, a perfect mix of earth and sea." He nodded thoughtfully at their joined hands, the sound of the waves crashing in the distance adding to the atmosphere.

"I thought there could be no better place for our first date."

Rosalie found herself taken aback at the man's sincerity, the thought and effort he put into this moment. It made her heart ache and swell with affection and appreciation. "You were right, it is absolutely perfect." She said, squeezing his hand and flashing him a radiant smile.

The pair sat some time later, leisurely swapping stories as was their custom on nights out.

As their first course was cleared away, Red grinned warmly at his counterpart. "Tell me what you learned today." He crooned, taking her hand back in his.

Rosalie beamed fondly at him, picking up the miniature of her arrangement and setting it in the center of the table.

"I learned you are a hopeless romantic," she teased, earning a sensual chuckle.

"Are you susceptible to romance?" He quipped playfully, thrilling at the blush which stained her cheeks.

"As it turns out I'm terribly susceptible." She admitted, thinking of how he had played on her heartstrings all day.

Her eyes turned back to the arrangement, her hand reaching up to stroke one of the blooms.

"I learned anemones are associated with anticipation, excitement for things to come. You were telling me how you have been anticipating us dating, looking forward to the potential of a relationship."

Red nodded softly in response.

"There were silverston roses, which, apart from being rather rare, are symbolic of love at first sight, of enchantment." Her dark eyes flitted up to his, "I would be lying if I said I wasn't enchanted by you the day we met."

"I share that sentiment," he agreed, "I didn't recognize it at first, but once you were in my lap, I quickly realized it would take very little to have me wrapped around your switchblade-happy fingers."

The quip had Rosalie issuing that tinkling laugh Raymond enjoyed so much. The sound was so soft and warm, it lit up the room. The man idly realized he often couldn't help himself when he heard it echoing in the halls of the safe houses, finding himself chuckling along with her. The thought brought a broad grin to his mouth.

Rosalie continued, cradling a pale pink bloom. "These are ranunculus, which symbolize being dazzled by one's charms. Whether you're dazzled by mine or you were indicating I would be dazzled by yours, I'm not sure."

Red sniggered, tilting his head back and forth in a noncommittal way.

"The greenery in the bouquet is eucalyptus, which symbolizes wealth, abundance, and foretelling, and tucked neatly near the edges is valerian, which stands for readiness."

Heavens knew they were ready. They had wasted so much time fighting the inevitable between them, it felt wonderful to finally pursue their connection. Her thoughts seemed to show in her expression as Raymond grinned knowingly at her.

She continued, "These are silver brunia, which stand for chivalry, and those are oregano flowers, symbolizing substance." Rosalie looked thoughtfully at him. "You were telling me of your intentions."

He nodded, pleased at her perceptiveness. "I wanted you to understand before tonight, I can see our relationship being much more than physical attraction. I want to date you because I believe there is something of substance between us. I can see a life with you." His eyes bore into hers, their openness and frankness breathtaking.

"I don't, well, _haven't _dated for this very reason. Rare is the woman I could see in such a light."

The statement gave her chills, the sincerity in his voice robbing her of all thought.

The last flowers in the bunch were white wild roses. The meaning had piqued her curiosity back at the safe house.

Her slender fingers stroked the white blooms, drawing Red's attention to them.

"Wild roses mean confidentiality." Raymond inclined his head toward her. "In the Roman era, the term sub-rosa was used to indicate a meeting being held in confidence. If we are to pursue this, Rosalie, I will keep no part of myself from you, aside from my name."

Understanding dawned on Rosalie's face. The side of him she had seen tonight, the openness, the sincerity, he was sharing part of himself which he kept safely hidden from the rest of the world.

She was meeting the man within.

Her eyes shone in recognition, he was trusting her to hold these moments in confidence, trusting it was enough for her to be the only one allowed to see him in such a light.

Her other hand dropped to hold his, cradling the large appendage in her two small ones. "Raymond, this is truly a gift." She murmured, bringing his hand up so she could kiss his palm. "One I will not take for granted."

A tension Red had not known he had been feeling seemed to release from the man's shoulders. His hand turned to cup her cheek and draw his thumb across the rosy blush. "Will I have the hidden parts of you, as well?"

He couldn't help the question, his hopefulness thrumming palpably in the air.

"You and only you will have them."

Raymond stood and pulled her close, claiming her lips, sealing the promise.

The action made Rosalie's knees feel weak. Her hands gripped his chest for support, touched by the moment and its meaning.

It was the beginning of something incredible.

An hour later, the pair were happily ensconced in their own private world, the topic of discussion having turned to the beginnings of their attraction.

"When did you know I was interested?" Rosalie asked, curious to hear his viewpoint.

"Oh, in Munich, what you said to Altan." Red nodded firmly, recalling the phrase quite clearly.

The woman's brow furrowed, unable to remember what she had said.

"'_I made the bed and beckoned him to it_?'" He quoted, grinning slyly at her.

Rosalie gasped and placed a hand over her mouth, the altercation hurtling back into her mind.

"My God, what a comeback." Red crooned, dying to know where the spectacular rejoinder came from. Truthfully, he had found her fiery retort utterly charming. It brought about something primal and possessive in the man which, at the time, had taken him completely by surprise.

Rosalie dropped her chin with a grimace. "Sorry about that. I found his attitude incredibly grating." Her eyes flashed their annoyance as she remembered Altan's accusations. "I needed to knock him down a few pegs. He just assumed you were bedding me."

Raymond laughed, "I wholeheartedly agree, my dear. He undermined your hard work and cunning by attributing your success to my libido."

He placed a finger under her chin, guiding her gaze upward, the look telling her in no uncertain terms there was no merit to Altan's words.

"You built an empire so enticing I chased you across an entire continent to get in on it." He reminded, "Bedding you was not part of my plan."

Red made certain she understood his meaning.

It might not have been part of his plan initially, but it damn well was now.

He wouldn't stand for her thinking his actions came from any place other than desire for her.

The intensity of Red's gaze made the woman blush furiously, her eyes falling to his chest again. "Still," she murmured, "I could have demolished his rampant ego without dragging you into the fray."

Raymond chuckled darkly, "Don't ever apologize for such a well-aimed barb," he advised, then added, "I, for one, enjoyed it immensely."

Rosalie looked up at him, amused. "Oh really?"

His green eyes shone with a powerful mixture of pride and adoration. "It was brilliant. Like a heat-seeking missile, you found the man's soft underbelly, then blew a magnificent and irreparable hole in it." Red smiled to himself, replaying the exchange over and over in his mind.

She had been something, _someone _else entirely in that moment, and Raymond was one of very few people who could appreciate the duality.

Rosalie the woman and Rosalie the criminal were two separate personas, yet as much a part of each other as the etchings on a coin. Like him, she had learned to completely and comfortably occupy either side of that coin at a moment's notice.

Knowing the limits of each side and which to choose in a conflict was one of the keys to their survival. Reddington had found himself inundated with both attraction and intrigue at the quick wit Rosalie had shown.

He sometimes forgot she was still rather new to their world. To see her blushing, unsure of her own prowess was rather endearing, truth be told. He was, however, looking forward to watching her confidence grow, to see more of the formidable hellion he saw that night in Munich. The image was very, very alluring.

The young woman blushed again at his praise and his intense stare. Raymond was a powerful man who dealt with his fair share of vicious and ruthless criminals. He wouldn't sugarcoat his opinion for anyone, even her.

As their main course was cleared away and the cork popped on another bottle of Masseto, talk turned to their recent adventures in Siena.

"What did that Stefano fellow say to you, after the race?" Red asked, he had meant to question her about the exchange last night, but more enticing opportunities had come up.

Rosalie wrinkled her nose in distaste. "He made a comment about my looks. Said a young little thing like me should be more careful about what men's toes I step on." She met Raymond's gaze, her slate eyes sharp and narrowed. "I didn't take kindly to it."

Raymond held his amusement, "I'm dying to know what fiery retort you lobbed his way."

A reluctant smile plucked at her full lips, "I might have dragged you into it." She murmured ruefully, unsure how he would respond.

The man let out a barking laugh. "I figured by the way you grabbed my arm," he noted, "Now I'm doubly interested."

Rosalie shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. "I threatened to funnel all my assets into ensuring Pantera became the next Nonna. I then proceeded to tell him he should be more careful about the women he threatens. He didn't have the slightest clue who I was or who I belonged to, and that could end up getting him killed."

She fidgeted with the napkin in her lap, finally hazarding a glance at her date.

Raymond's face was warm and, for lack of a better word, delighted. "That'll teach him." He quipped, still reeling at her choice of words. '_ Who I was or who I belonged to _.' The phrase excited him immensely.

"Do you, belong to me?" He asked softly, green eyes watching her features hungrily.

She blinked up at him, blushing and nervous. "I would like to."

The statement made his heart swell almost painfully. Raymond lifted her hand and placed his lips to its soft surface. "I think it's time I took you for a spin on the dance floor."

The woman tittered softly as he stood, keeping her hand in his. She was pulled into his waiting arms and guided smoothly onto the floor as the band tucked back in the cave struck up a slow, swinging ballad.

They danced slowly, swaying gently in each other's arms. Both couldn't help but recall the eventful night in New York which had slowly led them here.

They alternated between dancing in comfortable quiet and talking further. Finally, Rosalie remembered her own question about the prior day's excitement.

"How did you make out at the Palio? Your bribe." She asked, curiosity evident in her features.

"I made several bribes," Red evaded in a playful tone.

"You know what I mean," she laughed, "the last minute one you and Dembe were all hush-hush about."

Raymond nodded, it seemed nothing could be put past her. "You may have noticed the jockey for Pantera walked out with different security than when he walked in?"

Rosalie's brows knit together. She hadn't noticed this at all.

He continued, "Those were my associates. I bribed him to take the fall. Pantera had a very good horse and with even a reasonably good jockey were too likely to win. Taking their jockey out of the running early in the race backpedaled their potential significantly."

"The contrada was going to kill him for that, why was it so important to take him out?"

Raymond's eyes were warm and honest as he looked down at her. "I connected the outcome of the Palio with the likelihood of you accepting me as a suitor." He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Rosalie flushed a bright pink, "Could there really have been any doubt in your mind?"

His lips twitched slightly. "I prefer not to put the horse before the cart. There was certainly the potential you didn't want a relationship." The notion she might not want him in the same capacity as he wanted her had plagued him all week.

"I would be a terrible fool not to want that." Rosalie replied, leaning to rest her head on his chest. She felt his lips meet the crown of her head, a soft chuckle vibrating against her ear.

"Thank goodness you're no fool." He murmured softly, spinning them again.

A few songs later, and the pair made their way back to their table, intent on dessert. Raymond garnered a chiding laugh from his counterpart as he immediately nabbed her plate, bringing it over to his side and sat with his legs crossed.

"_I believe you have something of mine _." She quoted, coming to stand by him, shaking her little gold spoon at him in open chastisement.

Red laughed at the picture, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her into his lap.

"I thought we might share." He purred, taking her spoon and setting it on the table.

Rosalie peered at him, surprised when he picked up his spoon, took a swipe of her dessert and held it out to her. She leaned forward hesitantly, wrapping her plump lips about the confection.

Raymond watched avidly as the little pink tongue snuck out to swipe at the sweet cream. The sight was nothing short of sinful, coaxing an aroused grunt from his throat while he watched her swallow.

A pair of molten grey eyes peered heatedly up at him. She reached for her own spoon, gently batting his hand away as he tried to waylay her. She mirrored his actions, taking a spoonful of his chocolate confection and holding it out for him to sample.

The man relaxed into the proceedings, realizing her intent. The robust confection tasted divine, and seemed that much better when offered up by such a mesmerizing creature.

They took turns holding out morsels for each other to taste.

Rosalie held out a spoonful of her own treat, silently offering him a bite.

Red had taken it, humming softly at the delicious taste of cinnamon and pistachios.

Rosalie had giggled at his small sweet cream mustache, leaning down to kiss the remnant from his lips.

It was an incredibly erotic exchange. By the time they were finished and summarily informed that Dembe was waiting with the car, there was a stifling tension thrumming between the two. Not a crumb remained on their plates, and the last of the wine had been shared between them as they murmured sensually about everything and nothing.

The ride back to the plane was comfortably quiet, an array of silent communication occurring in the backseat.

As the trio quietly made their way into the plane, Raymond silently and stealthily removed his tie. He followed Dembe toward the cockpit, murmuring quietly to both him and Edward before closing the door behind him.

Rosalie noted the lost accessory immediately, a tinkling laugh escaping her lips. "Did you just put your tie on the door knob?"

He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the back of the plane, into the small, secluded office.

"I want no interruptions." Growled Red, backing her toward the desk and lifting her onto its gleaming surface. His fingertips stroked her thighs and hips appreciatively as he leaned forward to nibble at her neck.

"If you're looking for another trinket, you're out of luck." Rosalie whispered in his ear, garnering his undivided attention.

"I've nothing for you tonight."

_Jesus wept_. Raymond was convinced this woman could tempt satan himself and come out holding the keys to the gates of hell.

Her vital young body thrummed with excitement at his obvious interest, willing him to call her bluff.

"Let me see." He commanded, his strong hands pressing at her knees.

She opened them slowly, deliberately driving him spare.

"I don't think you want to tease me with such a thing, Rosalie." He warned, but she merely laughed.

"Oh, I think I do." she giggled, echoing his sentiment from earlier that week. "I told you I'd have you climbing the walls," she reminded, placing her hands between her thighs and gripping the edge of the desk.

"Tell me, darling," she leaned so she was a hair's breadth from his lips. Red could feel them move against his just barely when she spoke.

"_Are you on the walls yet?_"

Red's powerful form pressed its way between her thighs, bending her back onto the desk. "Oh little dove," he rumbled, "You should be more careful what you wish for."

He wasn't just climbing the walls, the man was practically on the damn ceiling for want of her.

"I'm going to have you shaking like a leaf, begging me to take you right here on this desk." His scorching mouth nipped and licked at her neck, leaving a smattering of love bites in his wake.

Rosalie moaned brokenly, the visual he painted all too arousing. "I'll beg you to take me right here on the floor, if it means I can have your cock." Her dirty talk made Raymond chuckle darkly, the thought more than enticing. However, he already had plans in motion, and he desperately wanted to keep them.

"Not yet," he admonished, pressing against her, "But I have something which might soothe us both for a bit."

He stepped back slightly, admiring the view of her spread open for him atop the desk. The slit of the dress had fallen between her legs, carefully covering the valley from view.

Agonizingly slowly, Red's hand slid up the woman's leg, catching the hem of the garment.

"Tell me you want this." He murmured, his thumb stroking back and forth over the sensitive expanse of her inner thighs.

"Raymond, if you don't touch me I'm certain I will scream." Rosalie retorted bluntly, her nerves crackling with need.

The statement was confirmation enough for the man, and he happily shifted the silky material away from his prize.

The sight of her sweet little mound wet and waiting for him nearly took Red to his knees. The soft, neatly trimmed curls were a shade darker than the waves cascading down her shoulders. The little lips were a pretty pink, glistening tantalizingly with her arousal.

"My God, do you have a pretty little pussy," he moaned, reaching to cup the mound. She was hot and so, so ready for him.

"And this sweet little clit." His thumb swiped gently over the tiny hood peeking out from between her lips, earning a broken moan from Rosalie. "You have no idea how much I want this in my mouth." He sighed, circling the pearl harder, making the woman squirm.

"Raymond, please." She whimpered, arching into his touch. Every stroke felt amazing, but she needed more.

Her small hand reached between them gripping his throbbing erection through his slacks. Her eyes widened as she felt the thick, hard appendage fill her hand to capacity. "_Oh._"

Red let out a confident growl, smirking as he rocked against the little hand experimentally. A shiver ran his body at the sensation, her small fingers felt wonderful wrapped around his turgid member.

Reluctantly, Raymond pulled her hand away, stepping closer into the valley of her thighs so his heavy, fabric-covered cock was nestled intimately against her wet slit.

As he had the night before, Red set a steady, rocking rhythm against her sensitive flesh.

The movement sent jolts of pleasure through them both, and the woman whimpered her longing for release.

"You needed this, didn't you, Rosalie?" Red grunted, pressing her back into the hard wood of the desk. "God knows I did." He confessed, moaning against her neck, the warmth and wetness of her center teasing his shaft just right.

"I want you," she moaned plaintively, "I-I want you inside."

Raymond's already thin resolve shook with the effort of holding himself back.

"Soon, honey, soon," he placated, thrusting against her endlessly.

His cock stroked her perfectly, teasing her little clit without mercy.

"Please," she wailed, "Oh...oh please, don't stop."

Red grinned darkly, "Not a chance, little dove." He assured her, rutting hard against her wet slit. He was determined to make her come, to prime her soft, gentle body for his possession.

"I'm going to make you _shatter_." He assured her, reaching up to palm one of her ample breasts.

The woman keened beneath him, bending up into his touch as he rolled her nipple into a taught peak.

"I'm going to ravage this sweet little body," he ground out, enjoying how her body tightened at his words. "You'll never want for a damn thing." He promised boldly, revelling in the feel of her thighs quivering around his waist.

His words were setting the whimpering woman ablaze.

Rosalie scrambled for purchase as she felt her orgasm come roaring through her out of nowhere.

Raymond could feel her shaking, desperately seeking release. "That's it, let it out. Come for me." He coaxed, feeling the beginnings of his own orgasm forming.

Rosalie reached for the collar of his shirt, pulling his mouth to hers in a silent plea. She wanted so badly to come, to give in to the pleasure he was giving.

He leaned forward with a snarl, pinning her hard to the desk and kissing her heatedly as he continued his strong, deliberate strokes.

A wanton moan met his ears and he leaned back to watch enraptured as her lithe body bowed in pleasure. Her orgasm tore through her, leaving her unable to speak as another wave of arousal gushed over the front of Raymond's trousers. "_Yes_," she finally managed to eek out in trembling delight, a primal groan of completion following thereafter. "_Oh_ _God, Yes, Raymond!_"

The sight and sound of her unmasked pleasure had Red's hips jerking against her without rhythm. His legs shook slightly as he felt her hand reach down to cup his testicles, rolling them gently.

Raymond grunted, the slight touch just the incentive he'd needed to come hurtling over the edge.

"Rosalie," he hissed, pleasure rocketing through his every nerve ending. "_Yes… Just like that" _He groaned his approval, thrusting hard against her. He rapidly hurtled toward his climax, his husky murmuring turning his partner on to no end.

_"__Fuck, I'm coming_." He gasped, hips bucking into the stimulation.

The declaration was met with a mew of arousal as Rosalie doubled her efforts, cradling his balls gently in her hand as her still-quaking hips ground against his pulsating erection.

Raymond came with a guttural, rumbling growl, riding hard against the wet woman beneath him, his release lubricating his thrusts.

Rosalie moaned as she felt the heat of him through the wet fabric, adding to her arousal.

The pair were left in a panting, trembling heap on top of the desk.

Rosalie adored the feel of Red's ragged breath ghosting along her neck. The sensation made her squirm, coaxing a husky moan from her partner as her hips ground against his sensitive cock head.

Raymond's bulk pinned the little woman tightly to the surface of the desk, ceasing her wriggling and making her sigh contentedly.

"_Wow" _Rosalie gasped as she caught her breath, holding Raymond tight to her. "I can't tell you how badly I needed that." Her body felt boneless, minute aftershocks rippling through her skin intermittently.

Red exhaled, a smug expression overtaking him. He kissed her languidly, their lips moulding together in a soft, sensual dance. "I have wanted to make you come for what feels like decades." He muttered against her mouth, moving to lift himself.

The woman's arms and legs wrapped around him. "Not yet." She mewed, wanting to remain pinned beneath him a little while longer.

His sensual chuckle filled her ears as he leaned forward, nuzzling into her neck. "We are going to land soon." He informed her regretfully, wanting nothing more than to doff the suit and bend her over the desk for round two.

As though on cue, a soft knock could be heard coming from the cockpit door. Dembe's voice could be heard from the other side.

"Ten minutes."

Rosalie groaned her dissension as Red stood, righting his attire.

A lewd chuckle filled the air as he looked down at his sodden trousers.

The young woman sat up to see what had him so amused and found herself immensely aroused by the outline of his well-endowed member against the soaked material. "I owe you a pair of slacks." She mused, slightly embarrassed for her shameless response.

Raymond strode over to thumb her chin. "I can't think of a better way to tarnish a perfectly good suit." He grinned like the cat who caught canary, "I'm going to consider it a personal mission to see to the ruin of my entire wardrobe through your pleasure."

The comment removed any embarrassment on her part and replaced it with heated amusement.

The man righted her, kissing her lips once before leading her out into the main cabin. He casually draped his jacket over his lap as the plane touched down on the tarmac.

_Stratos's Apartment, Siena - July 4th 1999 _

They had reached the apartment around one in the morning, the other occupants were blessedly asleep, allowing Raymond to walk Rosalie to her door in peace.

She rested against the door's facing, looking up at him as though he hung the very moon in the sky.

Red leaned one arm on the door frame, the other held her waist as he brushed his nose against hers.

"I had an amazing time tonight, Raymond." She sighed happily, tilting her chin up to meet his caress.

"What time can I pick you up tomorrow?" Replied Red, smiling at the soft laugh which danced from her lips.

"Hmmm…Seven?" She offered, pleased there would be a second date.

"I think you meant six." He teased, kissing her once again.

Rosalie giggled, "Any time will do."

"Until tomorrow." He murmured, meeting her in a kiss that made her toes curl before pressing off the wall and sauntering toward his room.

"Good Night," She said warmly, glancing back at him as she closed her door.

Raymond couldn't help the broad grin which lit his features. "Good Night, Little Dove." He whispered, stepping into the cool dark of his bedroom.

_Stratos's Apartment - July 4th, 1999 _

Raymond and Rosalie woke with serene smiles later that morning, The pair and their guards grabbed a quick breakfast before getting ready for their flight to Greece.

Jacopo had stopped by to say farewell and implore them to attend the next running in August.

Rosalie was going to miss the boisterous old Sienese. She planned to ask Raymond if they could make the Palio an annual tradition. It had certainly been a fun and eventful week.

Once the well-wishers were gone and the house was quiet again, Rosalie snuck off to the lounge where she knew she would find Raymond.

Stratos and their guards were conveniently packing, leaving an uninterrupted window for the pair to be alone.

He had been waiting for her.

The moment she had closed the door, Red had scooped her up and carried her to the loveseat, sitting so she straddled his hips.

"How did you sleep?" She asked, carding her fingers through his hair.

Raymond leaned into the gesture, a soft hum leaving his throat. "Better than I have in weeks. You?"

"The same." Nodded Rosalie, dipping to kiss his jaw line.

A pair of large, masculine hands gripped her hips, sliding back to squeeze her backside fondly.

"We needed a little release, didn't we, little dove?" He crooned, opening more of his neck to her affectionate touch.

Rosalie moaned in response. "You know, we have a few hours before we need to head for the plane." She intoned slyly.

Raymond's eyes rolled playfully, the ghost of a grin floating across his features. "My dear, a few hours won't cut it. When I take you I'm going to need a few _days _."

Rosalie couldn't help the shiver that ran along her body. At the sound of a knock on the door, she heaved a forlorn sigh. "I hate to burst your bubble darling," she grumbled, "but the way our schedule runs I doubt we'll be able to have a few days to enjoy ourselves properly."

She climbed off his person and straightened her clothes before calling, "Come in."

Horace poked his head into the room. "Rosie, I have the property manager in Trinidad on the phone. He wants to speak."

The woman let out a little growl her eyes flitted to Raymond, scrunching her nose before heading out the door with her guard.

As she left the room the thought occurred to Raymond that she was, in fact, correct. They would play hell trying to get more than a few hours to themselves. This thought did not sit well at all with the man.

They had spent so much time fighting what was going on between them, now they were finally ready to explore that avenue, and they didn't have the time or the privacy in which to do so. Raymond consider the issue as he drank his coffee and enjoyed his breakfast. The notion was bothering him greatly.

Raymond wanted their first time to be intimate, private, as it should be. He wanted to revel in their union. He wanted to learn her body's every dip and curve. He wanted to watch her come undone in the dead of night and the early morning sun, wanted them to walk around the house in whatever state of undress they preferred, and make love where and whenever the mood struck.

They certainly couldn't do that with Horace and Dembe floating around.

Red snorted. Well, they could, but he was a tad selfish and didn't want to share the delights of her body with anyone.

Dembe strode into the room, looking thoughtfully at Raymond's scowl. "You are wondering how to get her alone." He nodded sagely.

The older man didn't want to know how his guard was so perceptive.

"It's not wrong to want a little time to ourselves." Grumbled Reddington, shifting slightly.

"It is not." Dembe agreed, "It is, however, unfortunate you did not pursue this at Break Maiden, where you had a bit more free rein."

A thought struck Red, and he looked up, beaming at Dembe. "You've given me an excellent idea." He murmured.

The young man's eyes crinkled their amusement. "How can I help?"


	16. Tell Me

_Red's Plane - July 4th, 1999 _

Raymond and Dembe were up to something, Rosalie was certain of it.

The entire flight to Athens, the pair were sequestered in the corner of the jet, unusually distant from the rest of the group.

Rosalie sat in her usual seat across from Horace, with Stratos sitting beside him. The latter man laughed knowingly as the young woman's eyes shifted yet again to her romantic interest and his bodyguard.

"What are they up to over there?" She asked, narrowing her eyes as Raymond glanced up, winking cheekily at her before returning to the folio lying open between himself and the younger man.

"Whatever it is, you won't get Dembe to rat him out, so I suggest you let it go." Suggested Horace, shuffling a deck of cards.

Rosalie pursed her lips, trying to come up with a good reason why the two were so secretive all of a sudden.

"Let Red have his secrets, Piccola." Chided Stratos, taking the proffered cards from her bodyguard. "The odds are he is planning something related to you. Let him surprise you."

Horace winced. If there had been a wrong thing to say, this was it.

His charge's head swiveled slowly toward the boyish Greek, batting her dark grey eyes at him. "Stratos, darling, I think you know something." She cooed, seeming to look into the man's very soul.

"You have lovely eyes, my dear, but I'm much more concerned about what your lover would do to me if I spoil his fun." The man replied honestly, shifting the cards in his hand.

The innkeeper's face immediately dropped to one of definite annoyance. "Well you're no fun at all." She grumbled, picking up her book and rifling through it. "Honestly, Stratos, I expected a greater sense of adventure from you."

Her scolding earned her a booming laugh from both men.

"Oh Piccola," Stratos sighed, throwing a card down to pick up another, "There is adventure and then there is stupidity. Getting in the way of Reddington's plans falls distinctly in the latter category."

The dulcet tones of the man in question resonated over the group. "Now, who's getting in the way of my plans?"

Rosalie squirmed slightly at the sound, glancing coyly up at him. The man watched the exchange in open amusement, taking his seat beside the little innkeeper.

"It couldn't be you trying to derail my dastardly deeds, could it?" He questioned, leaning to place a kiss on her neck.

"No," she insisted innocently. "I was merely curious. It's unlike you to be tucked in the back corner the whole flight."

"Missed me, did you?" Red flirted, an all too confident smirk crossing his features.

"I was just amazed at how much elbow room I had." She quipped, nudging his arm playfully with her own, attempting to pilfer the armrest.

The action made the man laugh. He lifted the item so it was no longer separating them.

"And now he _takes _my arm rest." Rosalie sighed exasperatedly, raising her eyes to the heavens and holding out her hands in mock supplication.

Raymond shook his head at her dramatics before rotating and lying back so his head was in the woman's lap.

It seemed the move assuaged the loss of her armrest. Rosalie allowed him to lounge serenely against her thighs. Her slender fingers instinctively carded through his short locks, issuing a trail of goosebumps along his neck and scalp.

It had been a habit of hers from the very beginning of their acquaintance, and the man now found he couldn't go a day without those little fingers stroking him like this.

The low rumble of contentment issuing from his broad chest amused Rosalie, who happily continued her ministrations for the remainder of the flight.

_The Hillside House - Athens, Greece _

Upon arriving in Greece, their merry band piled into the waiting towncar and headed south for their next abode.

The safehouse resided in the municipality of Vouliagmeni, a quiet suburb of Athens. The little sea-side cottage looked quiet and unsuspecting as the group pulled into the drive. Like most homes in the area, it was carved of natural volcanic rock with small square windows and a vibrant red terracotta roof.

The gravel driveway was bordered in rosemary and Grecian wildflowers hodgepodged together in a colorful array. A veritable forest of olive and cypress trees covered the remainder of the property, hiding the car port and edges of the home from sight.

Red's brows quirked in mild surprise. The quaint home was darling, but it seemed unlikely to fit them all.

An irresistible smirk tugged at the man's lips. If they ran out of bedrooms, Rosalie would just have to bunk with him.

'_What a crying shame._' He thought, instantly thrilled with the small abode.

Rosalie caught his expression, confused as to what he could be so pleased about.

The man responded by dropping his eyes and trekking them ever so slowly up the feminine form.

Rosalie blushed and attempted to cast him an admonishing glance, but she was truthfully quite amused. The resulting half-smirk, half-scowl caused Stratos to laugh out loud.

The booming laugh startled their other companions, making Horace nearly run into the side of the car port.

The man's beetle black eyes glanced in the rear view mirror to see three rather guilty culprits. Rosalie was looking anywhere but the front seat, the Greek was chortling like mad, and Reddington simply stared blithely back at him.

"Alright, everybody out." The bodyguard groused, throwing the vehicle in park.

Their group disembarked, bags in tow as they followed Rosalie to the entrance. The heavy poplar door swung open to reveal a long, dark hallway through which the young innkeeper lead her guests.

Just when the group thought they might be staying in an actual cave, the hallway reached a set of double doors which Rosalie threw wide, revealing the main living space.

Compared to the entrance, the lounge was positively ablaze with natural light. The interior walls were made of the same volcanic rock as the exterior, white washed in the classic Greek style.

The floors were made of thick, heavy planks stained a deep honey color to add warmth and texture to the room. The gleaming hardwoods led to a quaint kitchen accentuated by a darker stone wall and a glass-topped island long enough to seat the five of them comfortably.

Red could see the innkeeper's nomadic sense of style in the space. There were touches of quintessential Cycladic design everywhere he looked, marrying effortlessly with the woman's sense of luxurious minimalism. The overall effect reminded one of the palatial abodes found nestled in the Greek Isles.

The southern wall of the living space wasn't so much a wall as a massive portico. The vaulted stone arches stood ten feet tall and six feet wide, making the only boundary between the interior living space and the sprawling sunlit balcony outside.

Raymond strode through the main arch, taking in the view. A vibrant slip of azure sea was framed by monolithic bluffs, stretching before him in an expansive valley before connecting to the sprawling ocean beyond.

The minute size of the home was merely an illusion. Though the first floor stood level with the top of the cliff, an entire second floor resided below, carved deep into the rocky face, with a similar veranda attached. The man looked down, seeing the open space dotted with outdoor seating and the sea churning further below.

A healthy breeze whipped across the man's skin, bearing the rumbling echo and salty scent of crashing waves. It mixed with the warm sun and the wild rosemary speckling the landscape to create a refreshing cocktail for the senses.

"She's a perfect mix of land and sea." Rosalie called warmly, stepping out into the golden sunlight. "I could have placed us closer to the city center, but I thought this location had a touch more charm."

Red turned to peer fondly at her through his rose colored sunglasses. "You never fail to amaze, my dear." He reached to cup her cheek, bringing her forehead within reach of his lips. "The place is incredible."

She beamed at his praise, glancing up at the Grecian beauty with pride and affection.

Stratos could be heard within, deploring this was his new home, he would be sending for his things post haste, and Rosalie would need to find a new locale to house her bumbling band of ne'er do wells.

His bellowing made the fugitives on the balcony snort with laughter.

"I'm far too attached to this one to let him have it." Chuckled Rosalie, shaking her head.

"Good luck telling him that." Red advised as the man loped onto the balcony.

"Piccolina, this is a _gem _." Stratos insisted, leaning conspiratorially toward her. "How much would it take for you to part with it?"

Rosalie laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Stratos dear, she's not for sale. You are, of course, more than welcome to stay whenever you like."

The man sighed his disapproval, shaking a finger at her. "Careful, little mogul, I might take you up on that offer and just claim squatters rights."

Rosalie's eyes narrowed impishly. "You do that. My bouncers are utterly charming."

The retort made the men chortle, both rather interested in testing her conviction on the matter.

Seeing her threats did little to dissuade, the woman rolled her eyes and shooed them back inside. "Come along you deviants, let's get you settled in."

Stratos and Horace were staying in the bedrooms on the first floor while Dembe, Raymond, and Rosalie took the lower level. As the others were unpacking, latter the two walked lazily toward their rooms, conveniently located in the same hall.

Red felt her warm hand slip into his. He gripped it gently, chuckling sensually as the sprite of an innkeeper tugged him into his room.

The master suite was spacious, yet incredibly cozy. Like the rest of the house, it was carved of stone and had a tall, arching ceiling. It looked much like a cave, though the plush bed and striking white and blue linens made the cavern feel bright and luxurious. The ensuite bath was natural and yet modern. Clean lines in the cabinetry and crisp glass counters complemented the robust river rock shower beautifully.

As with most of Rosalie's master suites, the bank of rooms had a subtle sensual undertone. Red had noticed this design trait from the very first safehouse she had set for him. The linens, the artwork, the miscellanea found on the shelves, it all combined to make the master suite inviting and alluring.

"Considering your cardinal rule about ladies of the night in your homes, I'm surprised the master suites are always so sensuous." Raymond voiced his thoughts, finding the irony rather funny.

Rosalie stepped into his sphere, her deep grey eyes enjoying the trek up his broad frame. "What do you mean?"

"The master suite is always so…decadent." He intoned, pulling her close to him and brushing his nose against her temple.

A warm smile plumped Rosalie's cheeks as she leaned into the gesture. "I set the home to suit the client." She reminded him.

Raymond pulled back to look at her. "All the homes?" He questioned, the surprise evident in his voice.

The little woman sing-songed her head, the affection in her gaze warming the man holding her.

"Every client is different, I do what I can to make them comfortable. However, _this _room and every home you've stayed in has been catered just for you."

Red found himself surprised. Of course, he could remember the incident with the maid in Bulgaria, but it hadn't occurred to him the woman would still be stocking the safehouses to his specifications.

The young innkeeper let out a tinkling laugh, enjoying his shock. She pointed at the sheets, "The 100% Belgian Linen is your favorite, the fabric stays cool all night long. You like earth tones as well as soothing blues, but just a touch, the rest should be light and neutral."

Her eyes wandered to the bathroom. "You enjoy the aromatherapy bath products, the ones with basil and eucalyptus. You prefer them laid out in the order they're in now."

The man's eyebrows raised. Red hadn't realized the bath products had been the same for months, and the woman was absolutely right about the sheets.

Rosalie continued, her eyes flitting up to the ceiling in the direction of the kitchen. "You like the small batch, mid-roast coffee from Ecuador, and on occasion, the lemon darjeeling tea from that one shop we found in London. You've a taste for wildflower honey, and I always have your preferred vintage front and center on the bar cart, along with those heavy crystal glasses you seem to enjoy so much."

Raymond's smile broadened as he listened to her rattle off his favorite things. He couldn't say why it warmed him to hear her confidently and accurately list his every preference.

It felt terribly nice to have someone know these seemingly unimportant things.

"I don't set the homes for other clients the way I do for you." Rosalie confessed, feeling somewhat sheepish. Raymond was different from her other clientele, he had been from the very beginning. The man became her most important client in a matter of days, and once Rosalie and Horace began traveling with him, the homes became theirs as well.

She set the whole house for their use. To her, it only seemed natural to make the spaces as inviting and enjoyable as possible. Horace's preferred bacon was in the refrigerator, Dembe's favorite books were always waiting on his nightstand, each and every room had details for the four of them, but none so much as Raymond.

The man before her grinned. "Careful, little dove, a man could get used to this sort of treatment." His tone was teasing, though he was truthfully touched by the level of care and detail she had quietly been putting into their accommodations.

She made this room sensual and warm and inviting because she knew Raymond would appreciate such surroundings.

He certainly did. The man realized he had thoroughly enjoyed every single home she had brought him to.

Typically, one was bound to encounter an unpleasant safehouse on occasion. It was simply part of being on the run. However, the man now realized he hadn't been in one single bad location since partnering with the innkeeper.

"Are we still on for tonight?" Asked Rosalie, diverting the conversation from her entirely too thorough knowledge of the man's preferences.

Red chuckled, allowing the tactic for now. "Most definitely. Though," he grumbled at the thought, "We won't be able to stay out till all hours like we usually do. There's a spot of business I need to take care of with Stratos later tonight." The man was obviously discontented with the matter, considering there were much more preferable ways to spend the evening.

Rosalie nodded thoughtfully. "Why don't you have your meeting here?" she suggested, "If you feel you can trust the other party, that is."

The man considered the thought for a moment. "They are certainly amicable, I've been doing business with them for some time. It's merely a change to one of the shipping routes they want to go over before releasing any product."

The woman leaned to wrap her arms around his middle, batting her long lashes at him. "Have them over for drinks and desserts, soothe their ruffled feathers. I'll keep while you play criminal tycoon."

The statement had Raymond issuing a low, sultry laugh. "You'll keep, will you?.. and if I won't?" He asked, pulling her to his solid frame and kissing her soundly.

"I'm afraid you'll have to." She murmured against his lips. "Just long enough for you to guarantee their cooperation and for the others to be so inebriated they won't notice your absence." She grinned, grey eyes flitting over him restlessly.

"And after they're all drunk and distracted?" questioned Raymond, enjoying the sensation of her eyes raking him. "Tell me your plans. Are we sneaking off into the night?"

"There's no need for that." Purred Rosalie, taking a few steps back from him. "There are hidden delights in this very home we can spend hours exploring."

"Oh?" Raymond asked. Her demeanor had him intrigued. The man prowled toward her mischievous form, intent on learning her secrets.

A feminine little giggle reached his ears as the woman rapped two knuckles on the wall behind her.

Raymond stopped as he saw the wall spring open at a break in the wainscoting. It moved aside to reveal yet another heavy poplar door.

"My God, woman, you have more secret compartments-"

Rosalie placed her index finger against Red's lips, quieting his incredulous comment. "This compartment is ours _alone _." She murmured, brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth.

The man stiffened, alternating between gazing heatedly at his companion and eyeing the heavy wooden door with interest.

Rosalie reached out and turned the iron handle to reveal a short set of stone steps. She grasped his waiting hand and pulled him through.

Closing the door behind them, they made their way down to a small landing with an archway on one side. The woman smiled excitedly back at Red as she led him into what could only be described as an unmitigated and utterly decadent delight.

The walls and floor of the hidden room were carved from volcanic rock like the rest of the home, with pristine white walls and floors giving it a bright and airy feel. Polished brass hooks were placed on one side of the arch, while a brightly tiled shower was etched in a cozy alcove on the other.

A luxurious plunge pool decorated in iridescent blue glass tiles took up most of the remaining space. The secluded grotto led out to another vaulted arch through which the sun shone bright.

"Quiet, relaxing," whispered Rosalie, "Not a bad spot to play hooky from the others."

Raymond's gaze roamed the room, terribly pleased with the turn of events. "Whatever could we get up to in here?" He joked, trying to stem the sudden influx of erotic and debauched images flooding his mind.

The woman turned, a sly expression flirting with her features. "I was thinking a rousing game of water wiggle."

Red's tongue prodded the inside of his cheek at the saucy remark, turning to find the woman's expression perfectly deadpan. He tugged the minx back into his sphere, a deep, genuine laugh leaping from his mouth.

The sound ricocheted throughout the vaulted space, making Rosalie's nose scrunch in smug amusement.

"Oh, I like you," he crooned, capturing those lips again. Red's tongue took her hot mouth with abandon, demanding she submit to his ravenous exploration.

Rosalie whimpered her arousal, gripping his lapels tightly. "You like me, huh?" She asked, deepening the contact and relinquishing control to the man's pleasurable demands.

Raymond growled his agreement, grasping her feminine frame tightly to his. A stifling heat was settling between them, making them both want to bypass their evening plans in favor of christening every inch of the cavernous room.

Rosalie moaned as warm, masculine hands moved sensually up her back. "I like you too." She conceded, nuzzling his neck before reluctantly settling down.

They were both breathing heavily, eyes hooded with lust as they worked to key down their arousal.

"Yes," managed Raymond after a long moment. "You and I are coming down here the moment I'm done with the riff-raff."

_Later that evening - The Hillside House - Vouliagmeni, Greece _

" _I _call it Kotys." Came a slightly tipsy voice from the bar.

Raymond and Rosalie had just returned from their date in insufferably good spirits. The pair had gone to dinner at one of Rosalie's hidden gems with a stunning view of Acropolis. Aside from the excellent company, the two had enjoyed a wide array of Mediterranean staples as well as a few new-age gastronomy experiments courtesy of the head chef, of whom both fugitives were acquaintances.

They capped the night at an outdoor art gallery, which Raymond had secured via the owner. The two had the place to themselves, and spent a leisurely hour just strolling the grounds and discussing the various sculptures and tapestries displayed. Just as their first date, the evening passed pleasantly and all too quickly.

The pair had returned well before midnight, and were just raiding the safehouse bar in preparation for Red's associates, when Stratos had brought up the subject of the house's name.

"The goddess Kotys was known for the rather lascivious parties her worshipers engaged in." Intoned Stratos, inclining his head at the two. The man had noticed they were readying enough drinks to put down an army.

"I believe those parties were called orgies." Raymond quipped dryly, eyes swivelling toward his romantic interest. She had just settled onto the chaise lounge with a book and a glass of gin.

Rosalie met his gaze with one of utmost innocence. "Were they now?" She murmured, turning her page. "_How very interesting _."

"Had no idea, did you?" The man needled, completely unconvinced.

"None." Agreed Rosalie, staring resolutely at her page.

"None at all?" He continued, determined to jostle her cool facade.

"Nary a clue." She insisted, still avoiding his gaze.

"I think she might have known _something _about this story." Red turned, involving the Greek in his tomfoolery.

"I would say by the way she is avoiding us, she might have known quite a bit, which begs the question… Whatever could you have been planning for this delightful abode, Piccola?" Goaded Stratos, happy to partake in teasing the young woman.

Rosalie stuck her tongue out at him, still firmly ensconced behind her book.

"I should say so." Agreed Reddington, "What truly convinces me is the lovely little blush which seems to be encasing her from head to toe as we speak." He uttered the last phrase with a caress, staring unabashedly at the tantalizing form on the chaise.

Stratos took this as a cue to make himself scarce. Chuckling, he stood and quickly headed for the exit.

Rosalie glanced furtively over the edge of her book, only to find the confident form of Raymond Reddington poised over her. His proximity made her squeak, hiding behind the tome and giggling tipsily in spite of herself.

Raymond couldn't hold his amusement, finding her antics charming to say the least. He pressed his towering frame into hers, dipping his head below her book to place his lips at the shell of her ear. "Tell me, little dove, does this pretty pink hue extend everywhere?" He growled, sliding his hand up the tight skirt to fondle her hip.

"There's only one way to find out." She mewed, her tone belying a bravado Rosalie didn't know she possessed.

The man above her stilled, making her worry she had taken their game too far, too soon.

In the next moment, a noise erupted from his throat which told her he didn't mind her rascally quip. He didn't mind it one bit.

The woman's book was unceremoniously tossed aside as Red settled himself further within the valley of her thighs.

Her legs wrapped about his waist, drawing the man closer so she could nibble his neck.

The sensual touch teased a low moan from him. His deft fingers quickly sought out the buttons of her shirt, slipping the little pearls from their resting place and baring her for his viewing pleasure. A small smattering of freckles stole the man's heart as they speckled the newly bared expanse of warm, soft skin.

"So beautiful." Raymond groaned, taking in the gorgeous sight of Rosalie's heavy breasts wrapped in deep burgundy lace. They were perfect, just more than a handful, with pert nipples straining against the taught lace.

A grin ghosted across Red's features as he noted the blush did indeed cover her entire body.

Rosalie beamed for his mood, biting her bottom lip and watching his reaction hungrily.

His green eyes held hers, mouth dropping to the pristine mounds, peppering the satin skin with affection.

The woman beneath him sighed her approval, arching her body into his. When her pelvis met the front of his slacks, Red grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one of his large masculine hands.

Rosalie giggled, enjoying the new dynamic. The giggle quickly turned into a throaty moan as Red's other hand reached up to pinch her nipple. The man held her paralyzed as his unoccupied hand pulled aside the cup of her bra.

Rosalie gasped and arched into him again as the plump mound was exposed to him.

Raymond had just managed to flick his tongue over the delicious little peak, earning a wanton mew from his companion, when the doorbell rang.

" _Dammit _." He growled, reluctantly releasing his lover.

The woman groaned and trembled beneath him. Her desire was so evident, Raymond felt like an absolute cad for not finishing what he'd started.

"I'll make it up to you, my dear." He promised, helping to set the dazed woman to rights.

" _Just long enough to soothe their feathers _." She reiterated, kissing him once more as Stratos led Red's associates noisily down the hall.

The boyish Greek strode into the lounge, glad to see the amorous couple looking the very definition of put together.

In truth, the way Raymond was looking at the woman earlier, Stratos had expected to find them en flagrante.

Red silently communicated with his companion, who helped serve several rounds of rather stout drinks to the group as they settled in on the issue of the shipping routes.

A couple hours later, Rosalie had managed to sneak out onto the balcony as Stratos and the shipping associates were drunkenly singing a compilation of local ballads in the lounge.

Raymond stopped en route to her location to lean into Dembe's ear. "Tell me we are ready for tomorrow."

The younger man nodded quietly. "Yes, everything is prepared."

"Thank God." Sighed Raymond, gripping his shoulder in thanks. "And her black book?"

Dembe's soulful eyes shone bright with mischief. "It's back in her suitcase, safe and sound."

"Excellent." The fugitive, beamed gratefully at his friend. "Don't feel obligated to stay up too late, Horace and Stratos can deal with this bunch just fine. We're going to finish our date away from prying eyes."

Dembe shook his head and laughed softly to himself, wishing the other man a pleasant evening.

Red joined Rosalie out on the balcony. They bided their time, waiting for a solid ten minutes before tiptoeing back inside, making a beeline for the door to the lower level.

The pair sniggered as they descended the stone steps, making their way into the warm hallway leading to their rooms.

"My God, it's hotter'n hell and half of Georgia." Rosalie sighed wiping the tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. "I'm definitely going to take a dip before bed." Her gaze swiveled casually toward her date. "Are you still up to joining me?"

Raymond's face lit with amusement. They were both still tipsy, though they blessedly avoided drinking the concoction Rosalie had macgyvered to inebriate the others. He still fully intended to enjoy the remainder of their evening in the secluded grotto below.

"Sounds like a delectable nightcap, my dear."

Rosalie beamed at his agreement, kissing the hand holding hers before releasing him and scurrying to her room. "Meet you down in 15?"

Red nodded, chuckling softly to himself as he entered his room, doffing his jacket, waistcoat and tie.

It wasn't until the man was removing his shirt that a realization came and slapped him in the face.

When the garment fell to the floor, he stared at the tall mirror by the foot of the bed, the truth glinting at him from the tops of his shoulders and the sides of his arms.

His scars_. _

How could he have possibly forgotten about them?

There would be no hiding them from Rosalie if he went down there. The woman had no idea what he kept hidden beneath his suits.

The mottled flesh didn't necessarily bother Raymond; he confidently occupied his skin regardless. It was, however, rather telling of his past. It wouldn't take much digging for someone to draw conclusions on who he might have been based on those scars.

Would Rosalie go looking into his identity after seeing them?

She had said his name was of no consequence to her. Did he believe her?

The man had trouble trusting anyone's motives, but he believed he could trust Rosalie's implicitly. She had proven herself time and again over the past year. The woman was unflinchingly loyal, a friend, and a confidant. Hell, Red was pursuing a relationship with her, which denoted a certain level of trust and confidence. He told himself she would not go looking.

_But what would he tell her? _

He certainly couldn't tell the whole story of that night. It would be too damning, too revealing, she would know too much. It would put them both at risk.

Yet the man knew he would have to provide some kind of explanation. Though Rosalie would be understanding about the secret of his name, Raymond had the distinct feeling she wouldn't stand for him keeping anything else from her.

He had promised he wouldn't, as a matter of fact.

_'The best falsehoods are built on truths_.' His mind supplied readily. Raymond would simply tell her there was a fire, a disagreement amongst business associates. There was no need for her to know about Katarina and the others.

The tale would have to do for now. Red's stomach pitched unpleasantly. The vague story felt unpalatable. In any other circumstance, he wouldn't hesitate to spin the yarn in whatever direction he required, but knowing the story would be fed to Rosalie left the man feeling a distinct wave of discontent.

'_It's for the best.' _He reminded himself, thinking of her safety. She could never know, he simply needed to get over the fact that Rosalie would not know this aspect of him.

Red removed the rest of his clothing rather moodily, flinging the articles over the nearby chair in a careless fashion.

A few rare insecurities came flooding to the fore at the thought of being bared to the beautiful woman down the hall.

He had lived with the scarring for years, and the rest of his body he felt quite confident with. However, this would be the first time she saw the man in such a state of undress.

Would the scars bother her?

A corner of Raymond's mind chastised him for thinking such a thing.

"She's not shallow." Red grumbled aloud, shaking his head when he realized he was talking to himself.

The man strode swiftly toward the closet, taking out a pair of deep navy blue trunks with a sigh. Rosalie was bound to see his scars sooner or later, he just hadn't been prepared for her to see them tonight. A fact he would need to reconcile with in the next five minutes.

Once changed, he strode slowly down the hidden stairs, one of the thick fluffy towels draped over his shoulders. His heart was thudding steadily in his chest, a stifling nervousness coursing through his veins. Red rounded the corner at the base of the stairs, eyeing the grotto warily. He inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaling when he heard the soft sound of pattering feet behind him.

He looked up to see Rosalie's warm smile. She was clad in a similar fluffy towel and holding a pair of ice cold blackberry brambles.

He was adjusting the tie on his trunks when he turned, revealing his bare chest to her wide-eyed gaze.

The sight of him nonchalantly fiddling with the drawstring at his waist stopped Rosalie in her tracks. Her dark eyes burned white-hot as they raked his stocky build, admiring the wealth of light hair which covered his chest and trailed down his stomach before disappearing beneath the waistband of his trunks.

"Well hello there." Rosalie purred realizing this was the first time she had seen the man sans a shirt.

The woman had caught glimpses, certainly, but the minuscule triangle exposed when he had those first few buttons popped did not do justice to the arousing sight before her.

Raymond was positively virile in look and stature. He stood half a head taller than her, and his broad, powerful frame still managed to look relaxed and debonair in a pair of swim trunks and a towel. The dark shorts framed his waist and encased his defined thighs nicely. Her eyes trekked downward, noting his legs were toned and proportionate to the rest of him, bearing the same light colored hair as his chest.

Rosalie found the whole package more than a little enticing.

Her flirtatious banter and blatant interest soothed Raymond minutely, and the little peck she gave the underside of his chin as she reached the landing all but wiped the scars from his mind. Red reached out, ushering her into the room with a heated stare.

The young woman squeaked softly as his large hand squeezed her towel-clad bottom, goosing her into the cool alcove and ensuring the door to his room was locked behind them.

The cavern was an incredibly sensual setting at night.

The light of the mid-day sun no longer poured in through the arch at the far end of the pool, having been replaced with periodic flashes of pearly moonlight.

Rosalie meandered about, setting their drinks on a little tray beside the water's edge before dropping her towel carelessly alongside it.

It was Raymond's turn to stop and stare.

A moan of longing erupted from the man as he took in the delectable sight of the young innkeeper in a swimsuit. The strappy number was a deep, dark green, and gave him an unrivaled view of every one of her feminine assets.

Rosalie was a curvaceous woman with ample breasts and luscious hips which tapered into a pronounced hourglass at her waist. Her flat tummy was cute and toned, and there was even a lovely little birthmark which looked to be the size of his thumb on her ribcage.

The scar from their ambush in Munich was still quite visible, though Kate's impeccable handiwork had reduced it to a slim red line.

The lithe form bent to pick up a candle lighter from the tray, the view of her smooth legs and peachy backside beckoned another grunt from Red. His large hands gripped his towel tightly, barely restraining himself from striding across the room and sheathing his rampant erection in that smoldering valley.

The little hellion had the nerve to giggle at the noise, carrying on as if she didn't know she was tormenting him as always. Her pert derrière wiggled enticingly, the outline of her sex just visible against the taut fabric of her bottoms.

Raymond was uncomfortably hot, his predicament made worse by the little flush gracing the woman's skin when she felt his eyes continue to roam her hungrily.

Truthfully, Rosalie loved the way Raymond looked at her. When he was hot and bothered, the predatory side of him came to the fore. It made her feel like he was going to pin her down and ravish her at any moment. The suspense was positively to die for.

The green orbs tracked her across the room as she lit the candles on the walls to give them a bit more light.

The soft yellow flicker only served to cast tantalizing shadows over her nearly naked form. From his place by the arch, Red could see the shadow of two dimples situated adorably at the base of her spine.

He idly wondered, if he ran his tongue over them, would she squirm?

Setting the lighter aside, Rosalie lifted a slender leg, prodding the pool with her toe. She hummed her enjoyment, finding the temperature to be perfect.

A warm expression plucked at her lips as she took a step into the cool, dark water. "Are you going to join me, or are you planning to just watch me strut about in a bikini all night?"

Her teasing pulled Red from his distracted state, and he hitched a reluctant smile onto his mouth. He took a step toward the pool, hesitating at the water's edge.

Rosalie noted his trepidation. "Is there something wrong?" She asked, looking about the room for the source of his discomfort.

"No." He took a cleansing breath, there was no point in sugar coating it. "I have quite a bit of scarring, and I am rather hesitant to broach the subject with you."

The confession was met with a look of quiet understanding from his counterpart. She ascended the steps of the pool, taking his hand in hers. "We all have scars," she murmured, "But if you aren't ready for me to see them, it's okay. The last thing I would want is to push you into divulging something you're not ready for me to know."

The grey eyes were gentle as she brushed her thumb comfortingly back and forth over his palm. Raymond felt the sincerity behind the gesture, and it soothed him greatly. He realized he needn't have been concerned, Rosalie was going to be as kind and caring as always.

The desire to be bared to this woman intensified, pressing Red to grip her hand and bring it up to his lips. "I'm ready." He nodded, allowing her to painstakingly pull the towel from his shoulders.

Rosalie went and hung the fluffy item from one of the nearby hooks, turning to see Raymond with his back to her, taking a step into the pool.

Her hand flew up to her mouth, feeling as though she had swallowed a gallon of ice water in one gulp.

The skin of Red's back shone silver in the low light.

The scarring was extensive, cascading from the tops of his shoulders, fanning out onto his arms and rippling down his back in a cacophony of dimples and valleys.

A flood of sympathy coursed through the young woman at the sight. Something or someone had hurt him terribly. She thanked every deity she knew that she hadn't gasped, not wanting Red to feel as though there was anything wrong with the way he looked. Her hand dropped immediately back to her side, and she crossed the room to stand behind his rigid form.

"There was a fire," he explained in a terse tone. The man was unsure as of yet what the woman thought.

"Was it an accident?" Rosalie asked, hoping this wasn't something done to him out of vindictiveness.

"Yes and no."

Her head tilted at the non committal answer. "This has something to do with your name?" She deduced.

Red nodded stiffly.

"Understood." She said softly, much to the man's surprise. Her small hand reached out in a tentative gesture. "May I?"

Raymond's back tightened, thinking she was merely feeling sorry for him. "You don't have to-" he began, but she shook her head.

"This isn't pity." She interrupted, her tone firm. "We're dating, Raymond. I won't tolerate being barred from showing affection for every last inch of you."

The remark held her usual warmth mixed with a potent possessiveness which lessened Red's dour mood considerably.

The man turned and scanned her expression. Her dark eyes were set, unyielding and yet still the very definition of kindness. A slender hand sat mid-air, awaiting his permission. The man memorized those features for a moment before giving her a curt nod.

Rosalie's hand moved to rest like the weight of a feather between Red's shoulder blades. The damaged flesh contracted beneath her fingertips, the gentle touch feeling foreign after all these years.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, her voice resonating with concern. Her palm traced carefully along the rough, reddened river flowing from his shoulders down his back.

"Not anymore." Red hummed, deeply enjoying the sweet caress.

Rosalie leaned forward, her eyes holding his over his shoulder as she placed petal soft lips to his arm.

Red relaxed a few more degrees at the action. She obviously wasn't repulsed by what she saw.

Her mouth trailed from one shoulder to another, dropping warm, affectionate kisses every few inches until she reached the other side.

Her hands snaked around his torso, hugging him tightly to her, drawing circles through his chest hair.

Raymond was pleasantly surprised.

Other than her initial shock, the woman hadn't balked or gasped in any way. As a matter of fact, she was going out of her way to show his scars were nothing more than a point of concern for her, worried the damage still ailed him.

She had asked him if it hurt, nothing else.

"Let's talk about something more enjoyable," suggested Raymond, turning to kiss her forehead.

The blonde nodded softly, releasing his torso and allowing him to step into the refreshing water.

The man let out a relieved sigh as he was engulfed by the cool depths. It had been too long since he'd enjoyed this particular sensation.

Rosalie couldn't help the watery smile which graced her features. It seemed Raymond quite enjoyed swimming. She made a mental note to choose more safe houses with pools, or at the least, very large bathtubs.

She joined him, plucking their drinks from the tray beside the water's edge and passing one to Raymond.

He took the beverage gratefully, the refreshing taste of blackberries and Rosalie's preferred gin flowing pleasantly over his tongue. The man settled into the corner bench, setting his glass on a nearby stone shelf.

Rosalie wriggled into the small space behind him, wrapping her toned legs about his waist and tugging him so he lay back against her.

Red laughed softly at her antics, resting his head against her shoulder and dropping his hands to stroke along the backs of her thighs.

Her breasts were pressed against his back, brushing the sensitive skin periodically as the water bobbed them about.

"You're doing a darling impression of a koala." He teased, earning a scoff from his counterpart.

"I'm a cuddler, get used to it." She retorted, her hands caressing his chest and arms lazily.

Raymond felt Rosalie's lips brush his earlobe before she suckled the sensitive flesh between her teeth.

The man grunted his approval, shifting to expose more of his neck to her pleasurable attention.

She took the offering, peppering the sensitive expanse of skin with affectionate nips and kisses until Red all but purred in her arms. _This _was how he had wanted to spend the remainder of the evening.

They relaxed against the stone bench for several long minutes, talking about everything and nothing. The woman continued to shower her partner in affection, thrilled each time she made his breath hitch.

"You're turning me on." He rumbled, rotating to his knees and pulling the little innkeeper to him.

Rosalie's legs wrapped back around him, bringing her feminine frame flush with his.

Raymond carried her toward the center of the pool, enjoying the sensation of her scantily clad body pressed tightly to his.

They met in a tangle of lips and tongues, drawing a sigh of relief from them both. They had spent all day waiting to be alone in the sensual space.

With a sly smirk, Red plucked at the strings holding her bottoms in place, rejoicing internally as the miniscule bows came undone. He tugged the garment, earning a surprised squeal from Rosalie as the soft material snaked out from between her thighs.

"Raymond!" She chastised, somehow now a modest maiden. Her previous pursuits all but flung from her mind.

Red reached down to grip her ass, pulling her nice and close. "This outfit has been driving me crazy, little dove." He growled, "I need to satisfy one of my more primal urges."

"Oh?" She whimpered, arching into him as his fingertips skirted along her sensitive flesh.

"Yes," said Raymond, lifting her with him and making his way to the edge of the pool. He laid out a large, fluffy towel and perched her on the edge, pressing her to lay back on the warm surface.

His deft fingers immediately sought her glistening folds. The satin softness parted for him as he coaxed a lone digit between her lips.

"I haven't stopped thinking about this since last night." Red hummed, "Every waking moment has been torture, knowing what lay waiting for me, just beneath your skirt."

The thought made Rosalie's dark eyes widen, her arousal sparkling clearly in their depths.

He petted her lazily, enjoying each squirm and tremor which wracked her body. His fingertips traced her with a light, teasing touch, coaxing her arousal to a steady burn.

The man leaned forward, his lips traversing her in a languid, patternless path, following the plane of her tummy up to the swell of her breasts. He could see the tiny outline of her pert nipples perked against the swimsuit's cups.

"_Raymond_," she mewed, arching into his touch. The feel of his warm, wet mouth combined with the soft prickle of his five o'clock shadow, creating an incredibly erotic mix of sensations along her skin. Rosalie bit her lip and grinned as she wondered how his stubble would feel between her thighs.

The thought burned her from the inside out.

Red's finger circled her entrance, pleased to feel the slick arousal pooling there. "Look at you, so wet and ready for my attention."

The statement made the woman wriggle, eager to feel more of him.

"_Mmm...yes_." He growled, enjoying her impatience. "I've been waiting to feel this tight little pussy stretched around my fingers for so long."

Red pressed against the silky passage, urging the little alcove to relent.

Rosalie could feel her body fluttering to accommodate the thick digit. A moan echoed off the walls as her searing heat gripped him, hindering his progress.

The man chuckled darkly, the incredible tightness a delightful surprise.

Raymond pulled back slightly, coating his finger further in her arousal before pressing deeper into the trembling slit. He wriggled, swirled and nudged against her sensitive walls insistently, ensuring the little hole would give in.

Rosalie mewled, the twisting and thrusting causing her desire to build rapidly. Her tight heat started to give way to his assault, allowing the writhing appendage deeper and deeper until the man's large palm sat snugly against her, pressing and grinding against her clit.

The woman panted as his middle finger settled deep inside her. "_Raymond _" She mewed, arching into the feeling of fullness.

"That's it," he purred, thrilled when her little hips rut against his palm. Red loved seeing a woman lose herself to her body's demands, and Rosalie was proving particularly enchanting to watch.

The slender fingers of one hand were buried in her blonde tresses, gripping the strands in a tight fist. The other hand cradled her breast, kneading the pert mound as her body bowed in response, dragging that little clit against the heel of his hand.

Raymond's head swam with arousal, realizing he held this gorgeous creature's pleasure literally in the palm of his hand. It was a heady thought, making him feel powerful and more than a mite possessive.

The wet little hole relaxed under Red's diligent care, taking the large finger greedily as Rosalie rocked into each thrust.

Raymond smiled serenely over her, taking in every nuance of her writhing form. He learned her every whim,; which strokes made her breath hitch, what caresses had her legs trembling around him, and that one particular moan which told him he'd found the sweet spot which would make her come undone.

The view was making him incredibly hard, wanting desperately to partake in the shivering woman's excruciating pastime.

Instead, he slowly began working his ring finger into the tight passage.

" Sh- oh, _Shit." _Rosalie panted heavily, her toes curling into the towel. The added digit spread her deliciously, making her thighs quake helplessly on either side of her lover.

"I like it when this sweet little mouth says such naughty words." He teased, kissing her in a slow, sensual rhythm. She mewed throatily when his tongue took hers, teasing it in concert with his fingers.

He worked both digits into her snug heat, swirling and pressing into the slick space until she gave in to his invasion. Red growled his arousal with each centimeter she took, fantasizing about burying his throbbing cock deep in the clenching heat.

"That's my girl." He praised her as his fingers were once again accepted up to the hilt.

The woman let out a gasp of surprise at the sudden thrust, sighing her pleasure when the thick digits kept rocking into her, easing the tight passage open relentlessly.

" _Yes, oh…like that _," She sighed, enjoying every touch.

"_Tell me Rosalie_, tell me how it feels, knowing it's my fingers stroking you just right." His delicious baritone washed over her senses, luring her deeper into the wilds of passion he was creating.

Rosalie's hands were fisting the towel above her as she ground herself on the pumping digits. "_God...Raymond it's so good _." She whimpered, her body crackling with pleasure. She could feel the coiling sensation beginning deep inside, signaling where Raymond was rapidly taking her.

"_Please_," she groaned, lurching when the man added his talented thumb to the mix.

Red chuckled darkly, "God, I love how responsive you are." He murmured intimately, stroking her clit in time with his tireless fingers. Rosalie was shaking beneath him, edging closer and closer to release. He could actually feel her heat start to throb and clench.

"You're going to come for me, aren't you Rosalie?" He crooned, maintaining the same steady tempo, watching her face religiously.

The little blonde moaned in response, a vibrant blush burning on her chest and cheeks. She was clutching the towel beneath her in a death grip, watching memorized as Red's thick, wet digits pumped in and out of her.

"_More_," she pleaded, those lovely hips rocking against his hand with abandon, desperately seeking her climax.

"That's it," He growled, increasing his tempo, the sound of his hand stroking her sodden folds filling the air. "Come for me. _I want to feel this beautiful body shatter. _"

Raymond watched in unmitigated delight as Rosalie's body bowed off the ground. Her back moved in an arc following the curl of his fingertips against her g spot.

The woman cried out, the pleasure too much to bear as he beckoned her to meet his demands. "_There…Oh please…right there!" _she begged, her hips bucking without rhythm.

Rosalie couldn't believe how good Red made her feel. She was happily at his mercy, her every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

The man rumbled his approval as he felt her arousal soak his hand.

She reached and gripped his shoulders, bringing him close to her as she gave into the ecstasy he was evoking.

He brushed his mouth against hers, grinning at the feel of her sweet panting and whimpering ghosting across his lips. Red had waited so long to hear those desperate sounds.

The coil winding inside Rosalie snapped violently, sending her hurtling over the edge with a desperate cry of pleasure.

Raymond felt the tight, hot tunnel convulse around him almost painfully. A husky growl escaped his throat as he kept his fingers writhing inside, drawing out her pleasure for as long as possible.

The feel of her pulsating around him made his dick throb, a drop of precum dripping from the tip as the heavy appendage brushed against her thigh.

"So tight… _So tight and so damn wet for me_." Red praised, fingertips still coaxing her g spot.

Those lovely hips bucked as she came, her body shattering with her pleasure as he'd promised. It was a show of which Raymond was certain he could never tire.

Rosalie shivered and moaned her release, her tight sex drawing endlessly on the man's thick digits.

The sensation was incredible, if he could bring her to such heights with only his hand, dear god, what would it be like with his cock?

Red's lips kissed a soothing path up her trembling form, coaxing her down from her high. Each sound she made seemed to travel to his rock hard length, increasing the tension in his body as the last of hers ebbed away.

"_Oh, Ray-,_" she sighed shakily, her hips jerking as he slowly pulled the soaking digits from her pulsating slit. She was so incredibly relaxed, Rosalie couldn't bring herself to move for several moments.

Red grinned smugly at her, peppering her flushed skin with affection, basking in the sated glow for which he alone was responsible. The man had wanted to feel her orgasm first hand for a terribly long time. He could honestly say his wildest imagination paled spectacularly in comparison to the real thing. She was so responsive, so open with her arousal and her affection. It made his insides burn pleasantly.

"Why don't we shower together tonight?" He suggested evenly, tilting his head in the direction of the tiled alcove across the room.

Rosalie nodded dazedly, allowing the man's every whim.

They slowly made their way to the stall, where Rosalie reached in to start the water.

Her companion admired the bend of her bare backside as it stuck out of the stall. The missing piece of her suit was still somewhere in the depths of the pool. The desire to deliver a playful little swat to the pert little cheeks was rather difficult for Red to suppress.

The man settled for tugging on the remaining bow, causing the top of her bikini to cascade to the floor.

Rosalie shivered, realizing she was completely naked and bent quite provocatively in front of one very aroused Raymond Reddington.

A broad, masculine hand settled on the small of her back, easing a scorching path up her spine.

Another moan crawled its way out of her, echoing into the small shower. Rosalie stood, turning so her naked body was presented to his hungry gaze.

Raymond simply stared at the beauty afforded him for a moment, memorizing every last inch of her.

The sweet little triangle of her sex drew his eye first, the soft curls he had been playing in moments earlier coaxed a grunt of desire from his throat. Newfound territory commanded his attention, however, and the man found himself gazing ardently at her voluptuous breasts. He reached out, silently asking her permission. Rosalie gave him a feverish nod before Raymond cupped both mounds in his large hands. He marveled at the way the pristine flesh contrasted with his slightly darker skin. Her pert nipples were straining in the chilled night air, beckoning Red's mouth to their quivering pink peaks. His calloused thumbs swiped over the stiff pebbles, earning a sharp hiss of pleasure from his lover.

"In." He growled inarticulately, guiding her back toward the shower. Raymond kissed her languidly, enjoying the simple pleasure of showering with the woman.

She drizzled his favored body wash over them both, enjoying the raw sensuality of such an act.

Red couldn't help but map the edges of her curves, outlining the hourglass as he covered it with fragrant lather. The man was painfully hard, a state which his current pastime did nothing to alleviate.

As he threaded his fingers through her long locks, helping to rinse away the conditioner, he felt her little hands playing with the catch on his trunks.

"What are you up to, little dove?" Red questioned, hoping like hell this was going where he thought.

"Mmm…" Rosalie mewed against his mouth, finally undoing the knot blocking her path. Her soft hand snuck beneath the material of his trunks, wrapping around the twitching member she found within.

"_Oh_," she gasped at her discovery, stroking the appendage experimentally. "_This _is what I've been wanting."

A guttural groan echoed loudly off the walls when she grasped him. Red had been aching for her touch. Her hand was delightfully slick from the bath products, gliding over his heated flesh with ease.

"God _damn _" he gritted, gripping the wall behind her for support.

Rosalie hummed her arousal at the action, holding his green eyes heatedly as she teased his shaft. She gripped him tightly and slid down in slow, painstaking trek, allowing him to feel every nuance of her small fingers engulfing his length. The action made his broad frame tense, a growl rumbling from his chest.

Red voiced his discontent when she unexpectedly released him.

"I'm just getting rid of one final obstacle," she assured, tugging the waistband of his trunks so the garment slid down his defined legs.

Rosalie moaned as the object of her desire came into view.

Raymond's thick, throbbing erection bobbed heavily before her. The sight made her mouth water and the valley of her thighs ache deliciously. Her hands trailed down the smattering of hair leading from his chest down to his pelvis, thrilling at how the soft down framed his cock.

He was cut, just above average in length and girth, and impossibly hard. Reaching out to hold the appendage, Rosalie whimpered her arousal. Her thumb and middle finger couldn't quite touch when wrapped around him.

The young woman's mind was filled with erotic fantasies of what the twitching shaft would feel like dragging along her sensitive sex. Her intrigue and arousal showed plainly on her face, driving the owner of said shaft absolutely spare.

When her dark grey eyes flitted innocently up to her lover, the man actually quivered.

Her curiosity and desire to please shone bright in her gaze. Rosalie was going to learn him every bit as thoroughly as he had just learned her.

Raymond and Rosalie found they were both expressive lovers. They purred, praised, and echoed their enjoyment at every available interval, but the real differences between the two lay in their dirty talk.

Where Raymond had a delicious, rumbling drawl which demanded a response, Rosalie liked to whisper and croon softly in a melodic tone for the man's ears alone.

She spoke so quietly in those moments, Raymond had to lean in, his ear hovering next to her sinful mouth.

This was exactly where she wanted him.

From such a vantage point, she purred an endlessly erotic refrain, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of his neck, her hot breath sending goosebumps to every corner of his aroused and aching body. The sensations were intoxicating, but _dear God_, the words which came from her perfect little mouth were what sent the man into a frenzy.

Rosalie had chosen to tell him of the night of the Palio, after he had left her room. She told him how aroused she had been, unable to sleep for the wicked fantasies which had plagued her in the night. She confessed her desire had sent her mind scurrying down the hall more than once. She had wanted him so badly, she just couldn't help but take matters in hand.

Raymond rocked greedily into the aforementioned appendage, moaning his involvement at the decadent tale. He listened intently, his body inching closer and closer to its peak while she used him as a confessional for her late night sins.

Red's eyes rolled back when her breath tickled his ear and her soft hand swirled about his cock head, the dual sensations almost too much to bear. His hips jerked into the wonderful feeling, wanting more of her particular brand of penance.

" _Fuck _." He husked, gasping as her small palm focused on the throbbing crown, spreading the pre-cum all over his aching head.

"I couldn't stand it anymore," she murmured intimately. "I touched myself until I came on the little fingers currently stroking your thick, perfect cock."

" _Jesus, Rosalie _." He rumbled, nuzzling against her desperately. He was so close, her words were painting such a sinful picture in his mind's eye, setting him up for an incredible climax. He could feel her smaller digits spread with every pass of his large cock.

"But… it wasn't enough." Rosalie bemoaned, the dark eyes turning innocently up to him.

"No?" He groaned, his toes gripping against the tiled floor.

She grinned for his expression. The man's brow was furrowed in concentration, his tantalizing lips were parted in a gasp, and his body was wound so tight Rosalie was certain he would snap. It was an incredible sight, seeing the formidable man bowed in pleasure, knowing it was she who brought him to such heights.

Her lips brushed against his, open and beckoning, just out of reach.

The teasing gesture made Raymond moan plaintively, wanting to taste her sweet mouth again.

She readily appeased, her hot little tongue slipping into the waiting cavern and undulating in time with her hand's strokes.

Raymond sighed against her, sucking the little pink muscle gently before breaking the kiss, a deeper craving making itself known.

His large hand reached down and palmed one of her full breasts. The man leaned forward, nuzzling her fragrant skin, earning a sigh from the woman before he drew the chilled pebble of her nipple into his scorching mouth.

The wanton sound which escaped Rosalie told Raymond she enjoyed having her breasts suckled almost as much as he enjoyed having the delectable flesh in his mouth.

Rosalie gasped her surprise then let out a squeal of delight as Red's teeth nibbled the aching bud. "Oh _God… _" She hissed, arching into his attentions. Her hand grasped his turgid member tighter without thought, pulling a deep growl from her lover.

"Why wasn't it enough?" Red demanded, thrusting into her strokes with abandon. He needed to hear the end of this erotic interlude.

"Because nothing soothes the ache." She confided, her tone honest even in her lusty state. "It's never enough. I'm always left wanting you."

A deep tingling sensation was beginning in Raymond's spine, her confession conjuring every fantasy he'd had of them making love.

He had thought he was out of his mind, when his need for her began occupying his every waking moment. To know she felt the same desire, that same _ache _which made his body burn from the inside out, nearly took the man to his knees.

Rosalie goaded Red further by reaching to stroke his testicles with her other hand, making his knees buckle.

She mewed as she felt his cock expand and harden even further, his climax imminent. His breath was coming in sharp gasps against her breast as Rosalie continued to stroke him, tightening her little fist and shortening her strokes to tease just past his aching head.

"Do you know what else I've been longing for?" She cooed in his ear, smiling at the tremor which shook his frame.

" _N-no _," he swallowed, inching ever closer to euphoria, dying to hear her next statement, somehow knowing it would take him over the edge.

The woman went silent, waiting for the ideal moment.

"Dammit, Rosalie, fucking _tell me. _" He demanded thrusting into her grip and grazing his teeth over her nipple as he teetered right on the edge.

"I've been dying to feel you _come _." She growled soulfully against the shell of his ear.

It was as though she had said the magic word.

A deep, husky snarl leapt from Raymond's mouth, sending goosebumps down her spine.

"Oh…Yes _, God, yes." _He groaned brokenly as his slit pulsed hard. A thick rope of cum shot onto Rosalie's torso, followed by another and another.

Her hot little hands continued teasing his crown and massaging his balls, urging every last drop of release from his pulsing shaft. The sight of his cum covering her from sternum to thighs was both comforting and arousing, making the woman mew her contentment.

Red gasped and moaned, watching the sinful show of his orgasm coating her satin skin. It was an arousing sight, making his hips jerk, easing him through the last vestiges of the incredible high she had taken him to.

Rosalie watched enraptured as the last of his orgasm dripped from the throbbing head. She couldn't stop thinking about what he would feel like inside her. The thick, hot shaft made her ache so perfectly.

The deep grey orbs traveled up his heaving form, meeting the sated green eyes with a warm smile.

"I have never enjoyed watching a man come so much in my life." She giggled, sliding her hand back up the softening member.

Raymond inhaled a shuddering gasp as her soft fingers traversed his over-sensitized flesh.

He kissed her sensually, stepping them back under the shower's spray. His large hands rubbed her with more of the rich lather, cleansing her of his essence as they settled into a sleepy, sated, and comforting quiet.

Rosalie reluctantly headed for her room after they ascended the stairs and she kissed Red goodnight.

He had wanted to ask her to stay with him, but wasn't sure if she needed her space. After such an intense sexual encounter, Raymond would have preferred to spend the rest of the night curled up naked in his bed with Rosalie's feminine frame pressed tightly against him. They could have slept, talked, perhaps engaged in a repeat of their activities in the grotto…

He recalled, however, that Dembe was ready with their little plan, so he supposed he could wait one more day to have that time with her.

The man tried to shake the slight feeling of disappointment as he climbed into the empty bed, falling into an uneasy sleep.

Down the hall, Rosalie couldn't rid herself of the desire to go back to the master suite. She hadn't been able to tell if Raymond wanted to be alone or if he wanted her to stay. She knew which she preferred, but had instead kissed him and headed for her own room.

As Rosalie settled in the annoyingly spacious bed, her mind wandered to the man's scars. She had the distinct feeling something terrible had happened, and secretly wished he could confide the truth in her. An unpleasant melancholy settled over the woman as she lay awake in the dark, her mind roaring with thoughts of the man down the hall.

Red was dreaming of the fire. He supposed it was to be expected, after having to address the subject with Rosalie.

His unconscious mind went hurtling back to that night and pulled together the hazy images of what happened. He felt the pain, the unbelievable, searing pain. The fear. The betrayal. It all came roaring back.

He had been so certain he would die that night. He had felt death closing in on him, not knowing he'd be outwitting it every day afterward. He had felt so angry and betrayed.

A flash of red and a dark, smoky closet. An adult voice… They needed to be heard, or they would both die. They would never be found, and Rosalie would never know…

"You have to scream. Do you hear me? As loud as you can, you have to scream!"

A piercing cry, like that of a small child, echoed in his skull, the man sat up sharply.

All the blood came rushing to Raymond's head, making his brain swim as he gasped, a prickling sensation rippling over his sweat-soaked back. He took in heaving lungfuls of air, working to try and calm his hammering heart rate.

" _Aw, hell." _He groused, looking at the clock to find it had only been thirty minutes since he had laid down.

Once calmed, the man stood and reluctantly headed for the shower. It was going to be a long night.

He stood under the pounding spray, attempting to rinse off the filth and nastiness of the dream.

It had been years since he'd had a nightmare about that night. They were always so real, Red typically remained shaken for a couple days.

The water swirled at his feet, circling the drain lazily as the man tried to reconcile the feelings of vulnerability the dream had awoken.

Stepping out of the steamy en-suite, the man again considered seeking out his lover. He deeply desired the comfort of her embrace. The insecurities of a new relationship washed over him, not wanting to push too far, too soon. Rosalie was likely already asleep, he shouldn't bother her with this. And yet…

Raymond looked wearily in the mirror, suddenly realizing how terribly tired he was of hiding himself. Secrets were exhausting, and he already had enough to last him a lifetime.

His decision cast, the man strode quietly into the hall in naught but his sleep pants. He could already hear Rosalie tossing and turning in the alcove of her bedroom. The man rounded the corner of the arched doorway to see her sprawled on her stomach, honey tresses in a riot of curls down her back. The very sight of her somehow calmed him.

The woman was as restless as he, letting out a huff of frustration and kicking the blankets toward the foot of the bed. She didn't realize Red was there. "Get over it, Rosalie." She grumbled to herself, tugging a pillow and prodding it aggressively before curling up again.

Red's expression softened, a wave of empathy consuming him. The sexual release they had enjoyed in the grotto had been spectacular, but had left them both wanting for something deeper. Separating to their respective rooms afterward only exacerbated the problem. They had been foolish not to discuss their needs.

He reached out to touch her, wanting to pull her close.

Rosalie jumped at the sensation of a hand on her leg, only to recognize the warm, gentle grasp seconds later. Raymond's weight indented the bed as he crawled up her splayed form. The scent which was uniquely him permeated the air around her, replacing her agitation with a mix of comfort and desire.

Raymond watched her body relax into his encompassing warmth as he settled over her. He dropped featherlight kisses up her spine, smiling softly when Rosalie arched like a graceful feline, seeking more of his attention. His large hands were pinned on either side of her golden head, creating a loving cocoon around her.

The woman's soft hands covered his, threading the slender fingers through his masculine ones. Both let out a sigh of appreciation at the connection, and the feel of Red's weight settling on top of her.

"Just for tonight?" He asked, dipping to trace her shoulder with the tip of his nose.

Rosalie breathed a sigh of relief, turning on her side and cupping Raymond's cheek. "Please." She whispered, stroking his stubble, with her thumb.

Raymond reached to open the window beside the bed, allowing the cool ocean breeze into the warm space. He settled on his side, drawing his companion tightly against him.

The young innkeeper hitched her leg over his hip, wriggling closer to his comforting embrace.

Red leaned in, brushing his nose against hers as he ran his fingers through her damp curls.

Rosalie leaned into his touch, brushing her lips gently against his.

They settled into a companionable silence, but Rosalie could feel something hanging in the air, waiting for Raymond to give it voice.

"It was a frigid night." He murmured, green eyes turning cold and distant. "The kind of night where the wind howled and the fire in the hearth felt as comforting as a mother's embrace."

Red remembered the dream as it played out in his mind. "The Cabal was searching for an item which could destroy them, believing it to be in the hands of Raymond Reddington."

A little red night dress could be seen scurrying behind a white door. "There was a little girl in the house. She was hiding so she wouldn't be found."

He saw dark figures barging into the house, the woman had brought them with her, the men recognized each other. "There was a fight," whispered Raymond, his body tensing unconsciously.

Rosalie reached to grasp his hand in hers, stroking her thumb over his palm in a comforting manner. The deep grey eyes watched him, spellbound as she hung on his every word.

The gesture soothed Red, his own eyes tilted to hers. "It all happened so fast, she couldn't have known. There should never have been a gun within her reach."

A warm hand reached up to stroke his cheek. Rosalie nodded her understanding, beckoning him to continue.

"Elizabeth," he murmured, hanging his head dejectedly.

"Elizabeth?" Rosalie asked, having never heard him mention the name before.

Raymond nodded painfully, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "She was so small, so young. She didn't know, but her mother…" The man's breathing sped up, a snarl just barely visible on his upper lip.

His lover leaned in, gently kissing the angry expression from his lips.

Red brushed his nose with hers, needing the warmth of her affection.

"I was wounded, dying." His voice grew soft, stilted as his own recollections grew fuzzy.

"A fire started, the Cabal was sure the item they sought was in the home, likely thought if it burned to the ground, there would no longer be a threat."

A grimace took over the man's features. "But _Elizabeth _was still in the house, hiding. I crawled over to where she was. I called through the door. Told her she had to scream, had to let them know she was still there."

The piercing scream echoed through the intervening years, along with the sound of heeled boots meeting a wooden floor.

"I watched as her mother gathered her in her arms and walked out. I called for her… called for help. Then the world went black."

Rosalie held him tightly, horror struck at the tale. Her stomach plummeted, her empathetic nature screamed at her to do something, anything to comfort the man in her arms.

They both lay there several long moments, Raymond soothing the raw corners of his soul with Rosalie's embrace, Rosalie attempting to put together the pieces of what Raymond had told her.

The man could sense the question in the air, waiting for her to inevitably ask it, and for her inevitable disappointment when he could not answer.

When Rosalie finally spoke, it was not at all the question Red had expected.

"Who helped you?" She asked softly, her heart aching for the man cradled in her arms.

"What?" He asked, obviously taken aback.

"Who helped you recover after all of this?" She questioned, her brow furrowed in concern.

"...I was a newly minted fugitive at the time, I didn't have a place to go. I certainly didn't have the resources I have now. Someone dragged my body from the fire, but that's all I really know." He shrugged it off, but Rosalie was deeply distraught.

"There was no one to take care of you?" She questioned incredulously, a pang of compassion gripping her insides.

"No." Raymond murmured, the truth coming to him reluctantly, "There was no one. An acquaintance took me and dropped me at a hospital in the underground, after that, I was on my own."

He felt the little frame tighten around him. He rested his cheek on her golden curls, taking comfort in her proximity. Rosalie lay holding him gently, and the man understood it wasn't pity she was feeling for him.

This was the gentle caress of a lover, someone who realized how lonely he must have been, how much pain he must have endured. The woman wanted to understand this side of him and how it had made him who he is. She was kissing him, cradling him close because she wanted to comfort him. She wanted desperately to soothe the part of him which was still that man, broken, burned, and abandoned on a frigid night.

Red had never truly spoken to anyone about the night Raymond Reddington died.

Dembe knew as far as what happened and why, and there was certainly a great level of care and compassion there, but Raymond had never had someone of his own to truly give a damn about what had happened to him.

Yet here was Rosalie, adamant on talking it through with him.

The man nuzzled her affectionately, basking in the comfort she willingly gave.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that alone." She whispered, placing a soft kiss to his cheek. She couldn't imagine leaving an innocent man to die in front of her. Especially someone like Raymond, who was kind and thoughtful and affectionate. How could those people do such a thing? The thought did not sit well with her at all.

A cloud above moved, bathing them in moonlight, and Raymond could make out a dark, cold look in the woman's eyes.

Rosalie was angry.

"You asked me if I trusted you to do anything you felt necessary to keep me safe." she recalled, "Do you trust me to do the same for you?" Her tone was firm and demanding, endearingly impassioned.

"Rosalie you don't have to-"

"I know damn well I don't have to." She retorted heatedly, "But this isn't going to be a one-sided relationship, Raymond."

His eyebrows rose at her conviction, it seemed the tale had struck a nerve.

Rosalie shifted so she was astride his hips. Her small hands traced his torso, searching for her target in the faint moonlight.

She found the small bullet wound hidden in his chest hair, the raised scar bringing a snarl to her mouth.

Red watched as she leaned, to place a loving kiss to the circular wound, her warm fingertips settling on top of it as she sat up.

"You don't get to give endlessly of yourself for the sake of someone's affection." She murmured angrily, "You should know they are in your corner, willing to give just as much, to be there when you need them."

The dark gaze met his. "I'm not just some lovebird who will hang on your arm and make you care about me only to bail when our life becomes complicated."

The woman had garnered much more from Red's confession than he had anticipated. Rosalie deduced there were others involved, and she was livid with them for leaving him behind.

"I just don't understand how someone could do such a thing. To you, of all people." She huffed, the bemused scowl on her features amusing the man beneath her.

He chuckled indelicately, caressing her thighs in languid strokes. "Rosalie, I'm far from a saint, I can think of at least a dozen hardened criminals who would gladly have my head."

She dropped her gaze, her tone apologetic.

"Raymond, it wasn't one of your rivals who did this. I can tell by the way you spoke, this was someone whom you loved, or at the very least deeply admired."

His amusement faltered slightly as she cut to the quick of the matter.

Red had long since come to terms with what happened to him that night, the betrayal he had suffered. Rosalie, however, was new to the entire altercation, and the tale made her absolutely furious.

The criminal in him snarled his pride, delighting in the fury which was cradled in the loving grey eyes, seeing a confidant, a partner, so much more than a lover in the woman before him.

Raymond rolled, taking Rosalie and pinning her beneath him as he memorized her fiery features.

He understood the anger, the darkness which flooded her, because it was the same darkness which resided in him.

Rosalie attempted to pull herself from his grasp, her temper getting the better of her. She needed a moment to cool down.

Raymond recognized the towering fury to which Florian and Horace had always referred. He was determined not to let her walk out as she had in Munich. He wanted to see the depths of the criminal prowling beneath her surface.

"I need a minute," she grumbled, attempting to wriggle free.

"No," Red stated simply, his strong arms pinning her even more tightly.

"Raymond," She gritted, the emotions licking at her insides like an open flame, "I don't want to fight with you."

A deep, soothing drawl filled her ears. "You're not fighting with me, Rosalie. You're telling me all about what kind of lover you will be, and I, for one, am dying to hear every last word."

"W-what?" She sputtered, trying like hell to squelch her internal seething.

"You're angry, little dove, let it out. _Let me see her _." He murmured, thrilling in the tremor of emotion which skirted her small frame.

Red's eyes were dark as he stared down his little lover. "Tell me how you're going to be better than her, better than the person who betrayed me and left me for dead. I know that's what you're thinking."

A vicious and discontented corner of Red's soul flared to vivid life, recalling a petite frame and long red hair.

His mind readily supplied the image of the vibrant blonde standing toe to toe with the woman from his past. Raymond saw the all-encompassing warmth of Rosalie Øllegaard clash with the cool frigidity of Katarina Rostova. The differences between the two were startling.

Rosalie actually growled beneath him. The little hellcat was stronger than she looked, somehow managing to twist and pin Raymond beneath her.

He felt somewhat guilty for being as pleased as he was.

Was it really so bad, for her to care? It was a selfish thought, yet Raymond found himself basking in the comfort and empathy as well as the outrage and anger which radiated from his lover. For once he had someone furious on his behalf.

The man's towering build pitched forward, taking Rosalie to her back, wedging himself firmly between her thighs.

"You promised I'd have the hidden parts of you." Red reminded, dipping to nuzzle her neck, his lips trailing a burning path from her shoulder to her jaw before resting against the shell of her ear. " _Let her out _, I want to meet this hellcat I've heard so much about." He purred, "I've only gotten glimpses of her, little dove, but I want to revel in her fire."

Rosalie trembled in his arms, the feel of his hot breath against her ear, murmuring so ardently to her, using that favored endearment, it shook her to her foundations. She had encountered very few people who could tolerate her temper, let alone find any redeeming qualities in it. She was hesitant to show Red this side of her, afraid he would not like what he saw.

Her mind pushed at her. Rosalie had promised he would have her, in her entirety. She promised.

"I hate whomever did this to you." She ground out, trying to drop her carefully constructed walls for him. It was difficult, her body felt like it was fighting her mind, refusing to give in. She tightened around him, needing his stability.

Raymond settled more of his weight on her slender frame, providing her the comfort and solidity she desired. His fingertips dragged gently along her skin, sending goosebumps down her body. "Keep going, sweetheart." He coaxed, ears pricked to hear what she had to say.

Rosalie didn't know why, but she desperately needed him to know, to understand. If there was anything of which he could be absolutely certain in regards to her, it was that she would never, ever allow something like this to happen to him again.

She also needed him to understand that he should never, ever tell her who was responsible for it.

Rosalie was certain she wouldn't rest until they were dead.

Her mind's own conviction frightened her a little. The murderous temper for which she was quietly known crackled in the far-flung corners of her mind. The criminal within her was already analyzing every word he said, looking for the holes through which to garner the culprits' names.

Rosalie grimaced, shaking the notion from her mind. She told him his name didn't matter. She wasn't going to go looking into his past simply for the sake of tearing apart those responsible.

Raymond saw the emotions play out on her face, watching enchanted as her clever mind sifted through the information he had given her. She needed a distraction, or the criminal side of her was going to go hunting. He knew the signs all too well.

"Tell me what you'll be, darling, tell me what kind of lover I've taken." He crooned, dropping his hand to the hem of her silk shorts, stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

The touch derailed Rosalie's criminal thoughts, forcing her to focus on Red alone.

"I'll be loving," she whispered, placing a hand on his chest. "I'll trust you, in all things. I'll put your needs before my own, because I know damn well you'll do the same for me."

Red nodded his agreement, taking the hand on his chest and kissing the appendage affectionately.

"I'll be your friend and your secret keeper." She murmured, sitting up so she could be closer to him.

"I'll be your lover in more than just the physical sense. You'll have my affection, my playfulness, my pleasure."

The criminal within Raymond listened intently, waiting for what he needed to hear

"I will be yours, Raymond." The dark eyes swam with her conviction, not looking away from the man towering over her. "You're right, I won't be like her, whomever she was. I'll never allow such a thing to happen to you. You'll know you have my protection, just as I know I have yours."

Rosalie implored him to understand. "I'm pursuing a relationship with you, Raymond. Do you have any idea what that means to me? I don't date because men are fickle and unkind, and they don't…" She hesitated, the truth hitting far too close to home.

Raymond stroked her encouragingly, recognizing she was gifting him with something deeply personal.

"Ray-" Her voice shook tremulously, trying to quell the inferno of emotions which had been stirred by their discussion. "They don't like the dark spots in my soul. They try to tame me or change me and I can't let them have me. I'm so tired of hiding myself away. I've wanted someone as dark and wild as I am, someone who understands."

Oh, he understood. Red knew exactly what she meant. The fathoms deep fury in her beckoned to him, speaking lovingly to the parts of Raymond which were forged in that fire. If she sought someone to understand her duality, Rosalie need look no further than the man kneeling before her.

"I like to think I've found that someone in you." She continued, "Knowing the way I see you, the way I feel for you, it makes me vulnerable. Because if I am to be your lover, then you will have the very best of me."

Her soft, warm hands reached to cradle Red's face. "Unlike the woman who left you in that fire, I don't have it in me to take the best of myself from you. I don't have it in me to leave someone I loved to die before my very eyes."

Raymond's eyes closed serenely at hearing everything he had desperately needed to hear, working to memorize it down to the last detail. He had known what kind of lover she would be, but to hear the words from her mouth, it was a reassurance which Red would remember until his dying day.

The comfort of her honesty created a deep, burning need within her lover.

The hand stroking her thigh slipped deftly beneath the hem of her shorts, tugging them away from what he needed in one swift movement.

Rosalie gasped her surprise, the noise turning to an astonished moan as Red's fingers immediately set to teasing her already aching sex.

The man couldn't explain why he so desperately needed to touch her. All he knew was the sensation of her body bowing in ecstasy was the only thing which might soothe the ache in his soul.

His coaxing brought her to the edge rapidly, demanding the trembling form give in to the onslaught.

Raymond was rewarded seconds later as her tight heat gripped his digits and his lover nearly screamed her pleasure.

Rosalie grasped his biceps as she rode out the intense orgasm, her hips bucking into each stroke of her g spot.

The man found his body rumbling with a delectable ache. A savagely pleasurable thought occurred to him as the woman keened beneath him, her nails biting into the mottled flesh of his shoulders.

This was how Raymond would rid himself of that night.

He would take this woman, love her so damn well, so damn often, the only marks left on him would be the evidence of their lovemaking.

He would gather the remnants of that horrid memory and replace each and every second with memories of her. Memories of nights spent in wild passion and trembling lust.

She was his.

His pain would be replaced by her pleasure.

His fear would give way to her comforting embrace.

Her affection and understanding would wipe away the loneliness.

The betrayal would find no purchase in her love.

Raymond made no mistakes, she would love him.

Just as he was certain he was already falling in love with her.


	17. Alone

Hillside Safehouse - July 6th, 1999 - Vouliagmeni, Greece

The following morning found Raymond and Rosalie ensconced in the alcove bedroom, pointedly avoiding the rest of the world.

The two had fallen asleep in a tangle of limbs, exhausted from their late night confessions and vigorous play time.

Red's face lay buried in Rosalie's neck, breathing in the scent of warm, soft female as he slowly awoke.

The only sounds disturbing the quiet of the room came from the open window, through which the call of seagulls and crashing waves could be heard.

The man's hand slid surreptitiously beneath the waistband of her silk shirts, cradling the little mound of her sex in a gentle grasp.

Rosalie woke at the sensation, wriggling in his grasp. She grumbled, realizing they didn't have any time for tomfoolery that morning.

Raymond had a meeting with Stratos and some associates, while she had a property manager in Jakarta who needed to be dealt with.

Red kissed her neck, dipping a lone digit into her slick heat, enjoying the pleased mew that tumbled from her mouth. "Good morning, my dear."

Rosalie reached behind her, wrapping a small hand around his unsurprisingly hard shaft. "It certainly is a good morning." She giggled, pumping the thick appendage experimentally.

He rocked into her ministrations, a deep growl rumbling through his chest.

The pair settled into their enjoyable pastimes, setting a slow, lazy rhythm to lose themselves in.

Rosalie had just started to quiver against Red's talented fingers when a knock sounded from the arched door.

"Go away."

"Get out."

The pair had spoken at the same time, their displeasure at being interrupted quite evident.

A head of dark black hair appeared in the door way, petulant eyebrows raised at the less than friendly greeting. "If you intend to deal with the issue in Jakarta, I have Cipta on the line. I would deal with it myself, but you know he'll only speak to you."

Rosalie sighed her frustration, "I'll be up in two minutes." She met Horace's eyes pointedly, indicating he should leave.

The bodyguard snorted with laughter and shook his head, stepping out of the room. "Honestly, it's like living with a pair of teenagers." He grumbled beneath his breath.

"I really, really have to deal with this." She murmured apologetically, looking into Red's eyes.

The man smiled warmly, "I should say so, you've been putting it off for weeks."

"You do know, I would much rather stay here, with you, right?" She asked needing the confirmation in this instance.

Raymond's eyes softened for her concern. "Yes, I do know that." He murmured fondly, "Don't worry about it, Rosalie, we will find our time together."

He seemed so confident, so perfectly assured, Rosalie wondered how he managed such an outlook as a career criminal. A smile broke across her lips in the next moment as she realized that was simply who the man was. Confident, swaggering, and, much to Rosalie's distraction, devilishly handsome. She kissed him soundly, running her warm hands down his chest once before reluctantly scurrying from the room to handle her business.

Red's eyes followed her out the door, sighing contentedly as he stretched the remnants of sleep from his limbs. He could afford to be overtly optimistic today. His plans would be in action before the morning was out.

An hour later, Raymond was showered, dressed, and heading out on a business deal with Stratos. He had just stepped out of his room when he watched the spritely innkeeper striding back into hers.

She looked coyly back at him, winking before stepping out of sight.

Raymond lingered in the doorway, waiting for the sound of her recognition. He had taken delivery of another flower arrangement while she was busy with her associate. He didn't have to wait long as he heard a telltale gasp issue from the woman's bedroom. A soft smile lit his features and he chuckled to himself before donning his fedora and heading upstairs.

In the window of Rosalie's room was perched a heavy crystal vase laden with voluminous hydrangeas. The bulging clusters of petals were a light purple bordering on periwinkle.

Rosalie cooed her appreciation, pulling the book on flowers from her bag and turning to the necessary page. She read through the passage, a secret smile lighting her features.

Hydrangeas were often considered a symbol of vanity or frigidity, unless, of course, they were purple.

Purple hydrangeas were quite particular in their meaning, representing a gratefulness for being understood and a desire to more deeply understand the recipient.

The thought made Rosalie squirm, recalling the late night she'd had with Raymond quite clearly.

He had shared so much with her, much more than she had expected. It had been a heartbreaking revelation, one which angered and upset her, but the woman knew without question his honesty had brought them closer.

The way he told it, to know this piece of Raymond was to know one of the darkest periods of the man's life. Such trust and sincerity was not easily won, especially from a man like Reddington.

Their amorousness aside, Rosalie had felt their connection grow and strengthen in the quiet of the alcove bedroom. Raymond felt it too, and appreciated the understanding she offered him.

The little woman blushed when she recalled how her temper had gotten the better of her when confronted with the truth behind the man's scars. Raymond had tried to coax that side of her closer to the surface, had wanted to see the darker corners of her personality. The request had made her nervous and more than a bit self-conscious at first. Was that what he meant by the hydrangeas, a desire to better understand the closely guarded aspects of herself? Only time would tell, she supposed. In the meantime, Rosalie would simply work harder to open that side of herself to Raymond, allowing him to see the parts which she guarded most carefully.

A few hours later, Rosalie finished her business for the day. The work had been enjoyable, but she was truthfully in the mood to relax with a certain fugitive. An idea struck her suddenly, and she found herself dialing the man's number without thought.

Raymond and Stratos had just put ink to paper on a new shipping opportunity when Dembe passed the former a satellite phone.

He grasped the item and took the call. "Hello?" He crooned.

"Yes, is this the concierge's desk?" Rosalie asked, her tone carefree and playful.

A smirk, snuck across Red's face as he turned away from his cohorts. "It certainly is, madam, what can I do for you?" He fell into the role readily, eager to hear her desires.

"Hmm…" She hummed indecisively, casually pacing about the property. "Well, you see, this art gallery is having a showing, for charity purposes, you see."

"Oh yes," he agreed, moving toward the unlocked town car, "And what is it you require for such an occasion?"

"I'm looking for a date, someone dashing and devil-may-care." She sighed wistfully, "Well-traveled, with better taste in wine than me."

"I see," he replied genially, listening to her rather amusing criteria. "Any other requests of this mystery man? A fondness for skulduggery, perhaps?"

Rosalie's nose scrunched and a wide grin illuminated her features. Damn him , he was very good at this. She hurriedly schooled her voice back to something more formal. "Yes, that is certainly a must."

She added in a serious tone, "Oh, and his attire is important too."

"Oh?" Red asked, surprised, "Madam, I had no idea you were such a fashion snob." His tone was only a little chiding, making her hold the phone away from her mouth as she sniggered.

"Oh yes," the feminine voice dropped to a low, sultry purr. "You see, I just can't control myself around a man in a three piece suit."

"A three piece suit, you say? What is it about such an item that drives your little heart wild?" he questioned, slipping into the backseat of the vehicle, wanting to hear more about this particular requisite.

A soft humm carried through the connection. "I think it's all those buttons."

He could hear the mischief in her voice as she continued thoughtfully, "I can just see myself undoing each and every one, it's like unwrapping a present meant for my eyes alone."

Red's head fell back into the headrest with a sigh, thanking every deity he could think of for his good fortune. The tone of her voice mixed with the delightful image of her squirming with lust, playing with the buttons of his suit the way she liked. The thought created a sizeable issue in the man's slacks, one he longed to share with her.

"Ah, well, that is a tall order." He said softly in an attempt to hide the blatant arousal in his voice.

She could still hear it, however.

"I might have someone for you." Eluded Raymond, purposefully giving her little to go off of.

The teasing hellcat continued, perfectly undaunted. "Is he clever? Can he dance?" Her voice slid effortlessly into a sensual undertone, "Will he talk dirty to me?"

"Fuck _me_." Raymond grunted his head hitting the headrest again as he dropped a hand to adjust his aching rod.

"That's more like it," giggled Rosalie, "I think I've been extraordinarily patient, don't you?"

"Mmm…" groaned Red, easing some of the tension in his trousers. "I think you and I have different definitions of patience." He chuckled, thinking of all the times she had teased him over the past week.

"I said I've been patient , I never said I was well-behaved."

The sensual tone of Rosalie's voice made him erupt in goosebumps. The pint-sized tyrant was bound and determined to get him on his knees, ready to give in to his desire for her. The feminine voice giggled mischievously, coaxing a wide grin to his mouth.

Raymond was more than willing to bend the knee.

He burned with want when she was around, could hardly sleep for the wild and erotic dreams which plagued him in the night. He needed her just as badly as she needed him.

"Why don't we meet for lunch?" he asked, needing to steer the conversation to safer waters. He was certain his body would implode if she teased him much further.

Rosalie allowed the distraction for the time being, smiling softly to herself. "That sounds, lovely, actually."

"Let's ditch the guards while we're at it."

A melodic laugh carried through the connection, "Playing hooky again, are we?" She questioned, her body responding to the very thought of the grotto below.

"Yes," Red nodded, a sly smile taking over his face.

They were going to play hooky, alright .

Rosalie hummed contentedly, unaware of the devious look gracing the man's features. "Where should I meet you?"

"Dembe and I are on our way back to the house now. Does Hillside have a hidden exit?" He dropped his voice to a quiet murmur as the others entered the vehicle.

"Yes, it leads out to the car port."

"Perfect. I'll meet you there in twenty."

Rosalie sniggered, "What about the car?"

"You let me deal with that." Advised Red, an idea coming readily to mind.

Twenty minutes later, Rosalie made her way through the hidden exit tucked behind a massive mirror in the house's lounge. She ascended a long set of stone steps into what was once a tall tool chest. The empty cabinet now served as a hidden entrance, hiding the young woman from sight as the sound of a purring engine filled the car port.

Heavy car doors could be heard closing, the noise echoing in the small space.

Rosalie carefully peeked through the crack in the door to see Raymond and his entourage exiting the vehicle. She heard the man's voice calling to his bodyguard.

"Aw hell, Dembe, hand me the keys, I left my hat in the car."

The jingling sound of car keys could be heard as they were lobbed into the air. Red snagged them with deft fingers, slowly meandering back to the vehicle.

"A little dove told me you were in need of a hot date?" He called softly into the car port, waiting for the woman to make herself known.

The cabinet door shifted minutely, a feminine frame slipping out of the small space, all smiles for their bit of skullduggery.

Red waggled playful brows at her, and the couple hurriedly boarded the waiting sedan.

Raymond kept the engine as silent as possible while he pulled from the drive, trying not to alert anyone to their escape.

Rosalie sniggered merrily beside him, keeping a close eye on the front door.

Red punched the accelerator as soon as they reached the road, tearing through the countryside with impressive speed.

"Alone at last." He grinned boyishly, grasping the woman's hand and bringing it up to his lips.

Rosalie gripped him tightly as the vehicle was put through its paces. "Raymond, this speed is a felony in most countries." She reminded, smiling in spite of herself.

The man continued to floor it, flashing her a look of utmost innocence. "All the intrigue listed on my criminal record, and you're concerned about adding speeding to the list?"

They both sniggered at the joke, Red's cavalier attitude effectively soothing the woman.

As they rounded another corner, a pin-prick black dot appeared on the horizon in the rear-view mirror. Red squinted at the image before executing another turn. "I have somewhere special in mind for today. The faster we get there, the more time we'll have to ourselves."

"Well, in that case, you're going entirely too slow." Joked Rosalie, appalled when Raymond smirked and pushed the sedan further.

When the landscape started hurtling by at breakneck speeds, however, she glanced surreptitiously up at him. She trusted in the man's abilities, certainly, but something in his demeanor had changed. Red's amusement had been replaced with a deep scowl, his shoulders were tensed, and Rosalie could see his jaw ticking irritably.

"Is everything alright, Raymond?" She asked, confused as to what could have brought about such a sudden change.

His eyes flitted rapidly between the road and the rear-view mirror. "We're being followed." He murmured darkly.

The speck he had seen had grown into a jet black suv, which was rapidly gaining on their position despite the sedan's speed.

"You're certain there were no other cars at the house?" Raymond asked, eyes still swiveling between the road and their tail.

"Positive," said Rosalie, eyes narrowing at the dark vehicle. "I didn't have my associates bring alternative transport."

She whipped out a satellite phone, quickly dialing the appropriate number.

"Where the bloody hell are you?" Came Horace's sullen voice.

Rosalie's lips pursed, "You're not in the suv behind us, are you." She didn't even need to ask, the tone of his voice was confirmation enough.

"The suv behind you? What do you-"

Rosalie could hear the sound of a heavy door opening on the other line. Horace was in the house's driveway.

"Where are you?" He reiterated, seething at the empty car port.

"Ten minutes south of the house." Rosalie confessed, "It seems we have a tail."

"I can't get to you, there's no vehicle." Gritted her guard, looking stoically toward the horizon.

Rosalie cast a sidelong glance at Raymond, "This could be the same issue we had in D.C."

The man nodded curtly, thinking the same thing.

"We'll head toward the airport." Rosalie decided, a plan rapidly taking shape in her mind.

"Without security?" Questioned Horace, disliking the idea immensely.

"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears." She sighed, "Call the property manager, he can outfit you with a vehicle and you can meet us at the hangar. There are several viable sites on the continent, we need to go dark."

"Which one?" Horace asked heading inside to initiate the blacksite protocols.

Rosalie's eyes widened as the suv made a sudden run for their left side. "If they sideswipe us here, we'll go off the edge of the cliff."

"Not likely," growled Raymond, veering to cut off the opposing vehicle. "I think they have something else in mind."

Rosalie's eyes followed his to the rear-view mirror, where she could see a glove-covered hand reaching out of the driver's side window. She just registered the glint of shining metal before shots began to rain down on them.

The sound of bullets pinging off the sedan's surface echoed through the phone as Horace tore through the safehouse in search of Rosalie's black book.

"Horace, grab Dembe and Stratos and get out of there!" She shouted over the din, astonished the windows hadn't been blown out yet. "We will hold them off until you can meet us at the plane!"

The call dropped just as the bodyguard came up empty handed, unable to find the list of blacksites anywhere. The man was further concerned to find Rosalie's belongings missing. He checked the master suite and found the same was true of Reddington's. He became more worried as he scoured the house for clues. What made the man's stomach truly plummet, however, was discovering the absence of Dembe Zuma.

In the runaway sedan, Raymond was doing everything in his power to dodge the barrage of bullets while remaining on the road. The tires squealed and the engine roared as they hurtled through the outskirts of Athens. Safely away from the coastline, the man could afford to be a bit more aggressive with his driving. The car easily outstripped the cumbersome suv, but wasn't quite fast enough to outpace the firearm.

Rosalie dialed the phone again, "Edward, we need to issue blacksite protocols. Can you have the plane ready to go in ten?"

Red heard the man's confirmation and took a hairpin turn at speed to cut across the city.

"We'll take Blacksite 9, it's in Cairo." Rosalie told the man assuredly.

"How will we know how to get there?" Asked Raymond quietly.

The woman placed a hand over the receiver. "I have the coordinates memorized for each and every safehouse."

Once their flight plans were confirmed, Rosalie ended the call, snapping the phone in two and tossing the remnants out the window before looking apologetically at her counterpart. "I'm sorry, Raymond."

The man glanced up at her, his expression puzzled. "What on earth do you have to be sorry for?"

"We keep getting found, and I just have a feeling it's an issue in my network." She shook her head, trying to sift through what they could have done to blow this location. Yet another one of her safehouses was compromised. "Dembe, Horace, and Stratos are in danger now. They're sitting ducks because I didn't think we needed contingency transportation." The woman would never forgive herself if something happened to them because of this mistake.

Raymond reached over to grasp her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I find it best not to assume the worst until all the information has revealed itself."

Rosalie sighed at the cryptic remark, her disappointment turning quickly to frustration. "We should just stop in the road here and fire on him. It's only one guy." She was thinking of their guards and Stratos, who would have a significantly easier time getting to the plane if the threat was neutralized.

Red's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, whipping the car into the airport hangar. He stopped alongside the jet, reaching over to Rosalie and snatching her gun from its holster.

"Hey!" She grumbled, trying to take back the firearm.

"Go." Red commanded, gesturing toward the jet. His expression was kind, but it brooked no argument.

Rosalie scowled at him a moment before stepping out of the sedan. She took the steps quickly, striding into the cool quiet of the plane with Raymond right behind her. The cabin was dark as he closed the door with a heavy thud .

"Wheels up, Edward." He called, knocking twice on the cabin door.

"Wheels up, Boss." Edward confirmed, lighting up the cabin.

Rosalie was standing next to her usual seat when the space was flooded with warm light.

The scene which greeted her was utterly baffling.

Darla, Raymond's stewardess, was nowhere to be found. The two tables in the main cabin held beautifully intricate floral arrangements of exotic plum orchids and delicate green bells of Ireland. The heavenly scent of Mediterranean fare hung in the air, growing stronger as Rosalie walked in a daze toward the back of the plane.

Two wine glasses stood at the bar beside a heavy crystal decanter which already held a dark burgundy liquid. Another bottle stood alongside it, waiting patiently to be uncorked.

"...What is this?" Rosalie wondered aloud, trying to assimilate what was going on.

As her footsteps reached the back of the plane, she saw hers and Raymond's overnight bags tucked safely in their usual spots. Horace and Dembe's were noticeably missing.

Red watched her, excitement thrumming in his very bones. He quietly started the record player, the dulcet tones of a jazz quintet echoing from the stereo as his focus returned to the woman walking the plane.

Rosalie turned around in utmost confusion.

Raymond stood at the front, straight-backed and confident with his hands clasped together in front of him. His green eyes gazed in ardent affection at her, making the woman's stomach flip.

"I hope you don't mind the subterfuge," he said in his warm baritone, "I've been dying to have you to myself since the day we met."

"You did all of this?" Rosalie asked, her voice laced with shock.

"With a little assistance." Red conceded, glancing out the window.

The black suv which had been chasing them hurtled into the hangar and parked.

Rosalie gasped when who should exit the driver's side, but Dembe.

The young man could see his friend's bemused expression through the plane's rear window. He grinned broadly, flashing the pellet gun he had been using to terrorize them. The grin turned into a full belly laugh when Rosalie's mouth gaped in open incredulity.

"That's why the windows weren't blown out." She gasped, narrowing her eyes at the minuscule firearm.

Dembe gave Raymond a small nod and a friendly wave as the jet started to taxi.

The older man waved his gratitude to his young friend. He deserved a substantial raise. No one could have pulled off this bit of trickery even half as flawlessly in such a short amount of time.

Rosalie followed the bodyguard with her eyes until the plane was out of the hangar and pulling onto the tarmac.

Red poured them each a glass of wine. "He and Horace are going to enjoy a well-deserved week off with Stratos, while you and I get an uninterrupted getaway in Norway."

"Norway?" She questioned, confused as to how the man came to such a conclusion.

"That's the blacksite we're heading to, I planned it all out with Dembe."

"Are you telling me this was all a ruse? You orchestrated all of it?" Rosalie questioned, completely aghast.

"Yes." Admitted Raymond, rather proud of the trick, truth be told.

Rosalie took the glass he offered, her expression still questioning. "The safehouse really isn't compromised?" She whispered, looking imploringly at him.

"No, my dear, the house is perfectly secure, Dembe and the others are perfectly safe." He promised, eyes softening as the woman's eyes nearly watered in relief.

"Why?" The question left her lips before she could subdue it. Rosalie didn't understand what would cause the man to instigate such a prank.

"I wasn't willing to share these next few days with anyone." Red crooned, "There was only one way I could be certain we would have this time to ourselves, and it was to initiate your clever blacksite protocols while we were out. Alone."

What on earth did he mean, 'this time to ourselves?' They were heading to a deserted blacksite without…

Rosalie froze.

Without security.

"We're alone." She breathed, the reality hitting her. "Well, minus Edward and Darla." She corrected, waving her hand carelessly toward the front of the plane.

"Whom are being paid double time not to leave the cockpit . " Raymond intoned playfully, glad to see the woman was coming around.

Rosalie positively glowed. "We're alone." She repeated, her excitement skyrocketing.

The little innkeeper set down her glass, quickly crossed the plane and flung her arms around Red. "Finally!"

Raymond let out a genuine laugh, wrapping his arms about the curvaceous frame.

She captured his lips in a sensual kiss which made them both sway on the spot.

Red returned the affection eagerly, pulling the woman tightly to him and guiding her to straddle his waist as he settled them both in his usual seat.

Her little pink tongue sought his with determination, doling out teasing flicks against his mouth until he opened to her with a deep, rumbling growl. She took the opportunity, swirling her the appendage erotically against his own.

Raymond broke the kiss when the need to breath became an imperative. "I take it you aren't too terribly upset with me?" He grunted, enjoying her response immensely.

The young woman peered pointedly at their surroundings. The gorgeous flowers, the record player, their lunch and wine waiting for them, it was all terribly romantic.

"You are a wonderful," Rosalie kissed his jaw, "thoughtful," she kissed his chin, "darling man."

Her lips peppered his with affection, "I couldn't be anything less than incandescent."

Her eyes showed the sincerity of her statement, glinting with flecks of gold, green, and blue as she beamed at her counterpart. This was better than anything she could have possibly imagined. They were going to a blacksite for a week, without another soul to interrupt. The knowledge made Rosalie's body hum with excitement, an all too familiar ache settling in her core.

Raymond grinned when she cupped his cheek, stroking the stubble there fondly.

"I needed you to myself," he confessed, "I wanted us to be able to go somewhere and know we wouldn't be interrupted. No guards, no clients, no damn Stratos and Jacopo lurking around every corner."

Rosalie laughed openly, the sound warming the room further. "I couldn't agree more. It's perfect Raymond, it really is."

A few hours later, two pairs of shoes lay abandoned by the door and Red's jacket was neatly draped across the arm of his chair. The remnants of their lunch had long been cleared away by Darla, who promptly returned to the cockpit and hadn't been seen since.

Raymond laid lengthwise on the loveseat, his waistcoat undone and his tie loosened. He was delightfully relaxed, the wine and the music setting the perfect mood for a cozy flight. His whole body simmered with desire, knowing quite shortly he and the little innkeeper would be very much alone in a secluded safehouse.

The woman in question stood eyeing him happily from the door to the bathroom. He looked like a dozing lion, sprawled out without a care in the world.

Red watched her intently, eyes twinkling with mirth. She looked at him like he was something to eat.

"Come here little dove." He purred, crooking a finger at her.

Rosalie pushed off the doorframe and sauntered toward him. A playful smirk flashed across her features as she bent, placing a hand on the edge of the sofa and delicately swinging a leg over his hips.

"_Oh_?" The man crooned his surprise, supporting the woman's waist with one hand. Those lovely legs straddled him, nestling at his sides so he was surrounded by the feminine figure. The man could hardly complain at the pleasant turn of events.

The smoldering valley of Rosalie's thighs pressed intimately against the rapidly hardening appendage between Raymond's legs. "Have I told you how much I love when you call me little dove?" She asked, rubbing her hands up and down his chest and arms.

"Mmm…" he moaned softly, "I don't think you have."

She unknotted his tie, slowly trailing the expensive silk out from under his collar. "I adore it," he was assured as she cast the accessory carelessly onto the chair with his jacket.

Red smiled for her antics when her nimble fingers undid the top half of his shirt. Scorching lips explored the expanse of skin exposed by her wandering, coaxing a string of pleasurable sounds from the man beneath her.

His large hands dropped to her backside, gripping a rounded globe in each hand and kneading rhythmically.

Rosalie ran her teeth gently over his tightened nipple, drawing a sharp intake of breath and a husky chuckle from her captive.

Without warning his large hand swatted the full cheek it had been palming. The man delighted in the muffled squeal of surprise which leapt from the mouth exploring his chest.

"If you don't want me to strip you bare and take you on this loveseat, I suggest you don't spank me just yet." Growled Rosalie, amusement and arousal evident in her tone.

The warning tickled Raymond to no end. "Oh, I'm terribly torn." He groaned, arching his hips into the heated space between her legs. "I am very interested in any scenario involving you stripping me bare."

Rosalie grinned, grinding herself on the straining bulge in his slacks. "Careful, I'm quite adept."

"I don't doubt it," he teased, "I'd be dazed and naked before you could say 'bad boy.' "

The quip kindled the fire in Rosalie's belly further, bringing a pleasant flush to her cheeks.

"How much longer?" She questioned with a small pout.

"An hour, if that." Red assured her, reaching up to brush his thumb along the bottom of her mouth.

Rosalie kissed the digit before suckling the very tip between plump lips.

Raymond growled for her, tugging the woman down so he could kiss her properly.

The little innkeeper wriggled against him as the man held her to his pleasure.

He rocked slowly against her molten center, allowing her to feel every inch of what he had to offer. One hand was buried in her hair, the other gripped her ass, ensuring those hips remained pressed tightly to his as he coaxed her into a frenzy.

Each sigh, each desperate little mewl of pleasure fueled the ache inside Red. The knowledge they would be soothing that ache very, very soon only served to heighten his arousal. A small bit of turbulence bounced them, making the pair groan with pleasure before they burst out laughing.

The realization they were making out on an entirely too small sofa like a pair of horny teens seemed to reach them both, replacing their feverishness with indulgent amusement.

Rosalie shifted to nestle against the man's side, content to wait out the remainder of the flight tucked against his warmth.

Raymond cradled the little bundle to his chest, his lips seeking her brow.

They returned to sharing a glass of wine and discussing their day in quiet, sensual tones.

"So how did you choose where we were going?" Rosalie asked sometime later, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

Red couldn't hold back a mischievous smirk, reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I commandeered your folio..." He confessed, hazarding a peek at her expression.

Rosalie's pink pout hung wide, the incredulity written clearly on her face.

"Careful, my dear, I have a wealth of fantasies involving that sweet little mouth of yours." He teased, thumbing her chin and positively thrilling in the radiant blush which flooded her features.

Rosalie scowled all the same, attempting to hide her blatant arousal. Her quick digits set to pinching his sides. "You really are a bad boy, stealing my black book."

"Borrowed," Raymond corrected innocently, snagging her pinching fingers in a strong grasp. "And technically, it was Dembe who nicked it."

A feminine giggle reached his ears as she tried in vain to wriggle free. "Uh-huh, I'm sure you coaxed that sweet boy into helping you with your dastardly plot." She readily accused, smiling impishly at her captor.

The fingers of Raymond's other arm scuttled along her ribcage, sending the trapped woman into peals of laughter. Red grinned as she squirmed and squealed, trying desperately to flee his tormenting grasp.

When the man finally stopped, she lay panting against his chest, pointedly ignoring the smug look on his face.

"You'll pay for that." She warned, huffing to catch her breath as the cabin echoed with a soft ding.

They were ready to land.

Raymond's eyes met hers with a heated, predatory stare. "I look forward to it."

_Undisclosed Location, Norway_

They touched down on the small tarmac shortly thereafter, finding the tiny airport a complete ghost town in the evening light.

Raymond grabbed their overnight bags and ushered Rosalie out into the dusky night.

Reaching the bottom of the plane's stairs, the woman saw a jet black coupe waiting patiently for their arrival. The two-seater had obviously been sent ahead by Dembe.

Raymond popped the trunk and placed their bags inside before heading back to the plane. He spoke briefly with Edward, tipping his hat to the man before descending the stairs and striding purposefully towards Rosalie.

"At last." He rejoiced, cupping her cheek and kissing her soundly.

The sound of the jet's engines roared around the pair, whipping Rosalie's golden curls about wildly as her mouth was ravaged by her lover. Finishing the kiss to his satisfaction, Red reached to open the passenger door. He took her hand as she slid into the spacious seat, the view of the beautiful woman in the little hot rod making him smile.

Raymond made his way around to the driver's seat moment's later, placing a warm hand on her thigh.

"Ready, my little innkeeper?" He asked, starting the engine. The aggressive car purred loudly, anxious to take the open road.

She beamed back at him "Ready, darling."

The vehicle hurtled along the road, winding this way and that through the Norwegian wilderness.

Rosalie played navigator, directing Red through the outskirts of the city and toward their destination.

The blacksite was tucked deep in the woods near Trømso, carefully hidden behind Fløya, the mountain range which cut the southern skyline of the city.

Rosalie held Red's hand the whole way, her soft thumb stroking his palm hypnotically. The car was cozy, and they rode in companionable quiet, letting the soft lull of the radio wash over them.

Where they were heading was perfectly remote. The acreage of forest stood twenty miles from the main road and there were complex access codes for the three gates guarding the compound.

The lane leading up to the home was bordered by beautiful white birch trees, wild berry bushes, and towering norwegian spruce. It looked much like a scene one would picture in a fantasy book filled with fairies, fae, and other mythical creatures.

When they passed through the last security gate, the atmosphere in the car changed noticeably.

The young innkeeper became delightfully nervous. The prospect of what was to come made her shiver in Raymond's grasp.

He smiled knowingly at her and she blushed shyly back, "Sorry." She murmured, "I don't know why I'm so nervous."

"New and exciting things are always nerve-wracking." He philosophized, pleased when she rested her head on his shoulder. He turned and placed his lips to the top of her head. "I'm nervous too." He confessed, hoping to soothe her.

Rosalie snorted indelicately, "You, nervous? I don't think that's possible. You're always the definition of confident swagger."

"Oh, I still get nervous." He nodded sagely, threading his fingers through hers. "I'd be foolish not to."

Rosalie traced the much larger digits with her thumb, memorizing the way his hand felt in hers.

"The important things always make me nervous." Red continued, "Asking out a beautiful woman and taking her to bed are right there at the top of the list."

Rosalie tittered, the statement sounded an awful lot like pandering. She smiled softly anyway, squeezing his arm a little tighter in appreciation.

_Blacksite #13 a.k.a "Fyr" - Undisclosed location in Norway_

The sun still hadn't set as they pulled into the driveway. The safehouse loomed out of the golden glow, standing tall amongst the trees.

A single floor hideout made of floor to ceiling windows in a black metal finish stood atop a sixty foot rectangular tower made of large white and grey stones. Bespoke vaulted windows made of thick, tinted glass were carved into each of the four walls halfway up the building. A single black wooden door stood at the bottom, waiting to usher them into the home's sheltered safety.

Out of all the blacksites Raymond had perused, this one stood out as the most romantic. It was highly remote, easily defended even without a security detail, and boasted a magnificent location. Though Red hadn't seen the entirety of the interior, the one glossy photo in Rosalie's blacksite folio showed the living space to be warm and sensual.

The pair exited the vehicle leisurely, stretching the fatigue from their limbs.

"This is Blacksite #13, but I call it _Fyr_." The woman said softly.

Red recalled seeing the name in her book. "Why Fyr?" He asked, gazing transfixed at the living space perched above them.

"It's Norwegian for lighthouse." She said simply. "We're near the arctic circle, which means in the winter months you can see the aurora borealis quite clearly. In the summer months, like now, Norway is instead experiencing the Midnight Sun. The sun quite literally will not set for another month, and since there are windows upon windows, the house is in constant sunset between May and September."

Raymond nodded his understanding, "Between the two phenomena, the tower is forever in the light."

Rosalie smiled warmly, holding out her hand, which the man took.

Grabbing their bags from the trunk, the pair walked to the base of the tower.

Rosalie released Red's hand so she could pull back the facing on one of the stones. Behind the facade was a glinting keypad, into which she tapped a passcode.

The door unlocked and the two stepped carefully over the threshold.

Setting her overnight bag on the entryway bench, Rosalie turned and closed the heavy door.

The deadbolt and steel locks fell into place with a wonderful, heavy, thunk of finality.

The hallway was eerily silent, and the young woman could practically feel her lover prowling toward her.

Two large, masculine hands appeared from over her shoulders, flattening against the door's face. Raymond bracketed her feminine frame with his imposing bulk, pinning her just how she liked.

"This usually is the part where you give me a tour, little dove."

The man's deep, gravelly baritone washed over her, sending shivers down her spine. Rosalie quaked at the husky sound, turning in the confined space so she could face him.

The visage of Raymond Reddington had changed. The warmth and affection always held in his gaze was colored with passion and desire.

The sight kindled the fire in Rosalie to an unbearable inferno.

Her small hand reached out, pressing gently against his chest.

Red allowed the movement, taking a step back from his prey.

Rosalie glanced up at him as her hand trailed along his torso.

The man's jacket and tie were carelessly left on the plane, more important matters taking precedence. His waistcoat, however, remained perfectly intact, a circumstance Rosalie was all too happy to remedy.

The man chuckled darkly as she made quick work of the buttons, the item cascading to the floor before he could even blink.

Those dark eyes held his as Rosalie stepped over the garment, grasping Red's hand and leading him up the spiral staircase.

Raymond watched avidly as her curvaceous figure swaggered up the stairs.

She knew damn well where his eyes were glued, and delighted in allowing her hips to sway enticingly with each step.

When they reached the first landing, Red couldn't help but grab those hips and pull her body flush against him.

Rosalie felt the sizable result of her efforts, giggling softly. "Tell me that's for me." She purred, arching her backside into his pelvis.

Red moaned at the contact, rocking forward into her teasing. "Only if you're a good girl." He chided, nipping the base of her neck before nudging her forward.

She lead them into the colossal bathroom, a wide open space lit by the large arched windows visible from the grounds. The walls were the same white and gray stone as the exterior. On one side of the room was a spacious walk-in shower with several polished brass shower heads. The other side held a sunken whirlpool tub, nearly as large as the grotto's pool in Greece.

Raymond and Rosalie's eyes met in the massive mirror hanging over his and hers sinks on the far wall.

"This is the en-suite-" She began, stopping when Red's hands came forward, carefully unbuttoning her blouse.

The green eyes never left hers as he untucked the soft button down from the pencil skirt. The garment was pulled gently from her shoulders, pooling onto the ground between them.

Rosalie gasped softly when Raymond tugged her long locks, exposing her slender nape.

"Go on." He prodded, placing a soft peck to the sensitive skin.

"The shower has ten heads, the whirlpool could easily seat six-"

She cried out in the next moment when Red latched his mouth to the spot where her neck and shoulder met. He sucked and nipped the tender valley, revealing a vibrant red mark as he pulled away, meeting those dark eyes again in the mirror.

His gaze told her it wouldn't be the only mark he left on her tonight. The man had been aching to have her, and wouldn't stop until he claimed every last trembling inch.

The look was enough to send Rosalie scurrying up the last flight of stairs with Raymond in tow. When they reached the next landing, she turned, tugging the man by his shirt into the open living space.

A quaint living room and open concept kitchen overlooked a magnificent landscape. The view was entirely lost on the amorous pair, however, as they grew more restless.

"Living room." Ground out Rosalie, rather inarticulately. Her eyes were focused on Raymond's chest, which she was uncovering as quickly as possible.

The white shirt he wore had pale dove grey stripes and was truthfully one of Rosalie's favorites. She finished unbuttoning the garment and pushed it down his strong arms, taking time to lay it carefully on one of the nearby chairs.

Red chuckled darkly, pulling her back into his embrace as soon as she was within reach.

Little hands explored his torso, skirting through the soft down covering his broad chest before being replaced by Rosalie's warm, affectionate lips.

Raymond turned, growling softly as he guided them toward the rear of the space where an archway marked the location of the master bedroom.

Rosalie waylaid him playfully, ushering them towards the kitchenette. She was just about to wax poetic about the styling of the cabinetry when Red pressed her against the marble island.

The woman's hands reached out to steady herself as she was bent over the stone countertop. She squeaked as Raymond's large hand tugged insistently on the zipper of her skirt.

The man couldn't think of a more erotic prelude than the feminine sound mixing with the minuscule tick of the tiny zipper making its way down the bend of her backside. The delightful symphony was culminated by the whispered swish of her skirt hitting the floor.

The man groaned his approval at the sight of her full, tight derrière cradled in midnight blue lace. The impossibly small garment and its matching top were a pretty pairing, enticing him with what they hid and thrilling him with what they bared.

Red's large, warm hands traced her stocking-clad legs as he knelt behind her. He loved her old fashioned taste when it came to lingerie. The minx was hardly ever seen without thigh highs and garter straps. He made a mental note to ask her what made her prefer such tantalizing delicates. He certainly wasn't about to complain, seeing he was benefitting from the intoxicating attire.

Reaching her ankles, he gently lifted each foot, cupping the heels she wore and pulling them free, setting them neatly beside their owners.

Rosalie squealed as his lips and teeth met one rounded cheek of her backside. Another love bite bloomed on the satin skin.

Red soothed the spot with his tongue, unhooking the clips holding her stockings in place and sliding the silky material down the quaking limbs.

Once divested of the nylons, Rosalie stood flat footed before him, squirming in anticipation.

Red placed his hands over hers, running roughened palms slowly up her arms.

Rosalie arched back into him, pressing tightly against his solid frame. Her hands left the countertop to reach behind her and unfasten his belt.

Red hissed at the sound of clinking metal. His fingertips dug into the woman's shoulders as the thick leather was trailed out from its loops. He saw Rosalie's neatly manicured fingers wrapped around the item, placing it on the counter before turning around and grasping his slacks.

He kissed her, sucking her bottom lip and teasing her with his tongue until her fingers struggled in their attempt to undo the simple button.

A moment later, he was freed of the cumbersome material, leaving them in a similar state of undress.

"Let's take this to the appropriate venue." Raymond rasped, scooping her into his arms.

Rosalie instinctively wrapped her legs about his waist, grey eyes meeting his in a burning, lust-blown stare.

The man stepped over the threshold into the sun-drenched bedroom, beaming at the woman in his arms. They had waited too long for this.

She kissed him and their sensual dance began anew.

In the beginning, they were partners, it was purely business.

Each had a commodity the other wanted, both had a need to be met in the other.

Neither had been aware of the dance they were being led into.

Raymond had chased her down, sought her out, acquired her, as a means to further his own agenda.

Rosalie had allowed the acquisition, seeing to her own benefit in the exchange.

They sized each other up that day in Sao Paulo. The formidable Concierge of Crime, a terrible, violent man in possession of seemingly endless cunning and influence, and the elusive, nationless innkeeper guarding a private stronghold of safety and secrecy.

They had assessed the risk of such an uneasy alliance. Criminals had a terrible time doing business as it was, and neither one could fathom sharing their hand.

She turned the tables on him, threatened his life, set her own boundaries, and Red agreed to them, holding his own close to his chest.

That day and nearly every day since, the two pushed at those boundaries, shifting and moulding them to suit their needs.

There were days when Rosalie's battlements were breached and repaired, but there were just as many days when Red was the one redrawing their lines in the sand.

It had taken nearly a year of shifting those lines to reach this point, the tipping point being Munich.

Raymond had taken what she gave that night - her trust, her loyalty. It had been earned, and she in turn had earned his.

The woman had allowed a glimpse of her fiery nature and deadly cunning, challenging every idea of who Red had thought she was. The raw, criminal side of Rosalie Øllegaard spoke to the darkest corners of Raymond Reddington in ways he never experienced before.

She told him he was worthy. He was worthy of love and affection, of safety and loyalty.

The wild and vibrant demons which danced in her soul were of the same eloquence and impudence as his own.

Red's eyes never left hers as he set her down at the foot of the bed. The massive king size four poster faced the open windows. Cool, crisp white sheets beckoned to them.

Golden spindles of sunlight flooded the room, casting Rosalie in an almost angelic glow. Red smiled devilishly, for he knew she was no such thing.

The mischievous creature before him smirked slyly back, reaching to cup his cheek. She could hear the thoughts running rampant through his mind, all the suspense and longing which had brought them here. She knew, because hers were the same.

Rosalie's voice was warmth incarnate, husky and melodic as she crooned the loveliest sentiment Raymond had heard in years.

"Come to bed, darling, let's quiet that mind."

A snarl leapt from Red's mouth as he lifted the curvaceous figure onto the soft sheets, crawling up the bed to settle between her silky thighs.

Rosalie grasped the back of his neck, pulling him into a feverish kiss. Her tongue battled his, fighting for dominance as she writhed beneath him.

Raymond's slid beneath her warm body, squeezing her backside before running slowly up the planes of her back. He unhooked her bra with practiced ease, tossing the article haphazardly across the room.

Rosalie sighed blissfully as her breasts were freed from their confinement. She flushed when Red's eyes trekked over the two pristine mounds, his arousal painfully evident.

The peaks ached for his touch, the pert nipples strained with excitement, willing his hot mouth to torment them.

Red happily complied, peppering the valley between her breasts with affection. He nuzzled the impeccably soft skin before catching one tight little pebble in his mouth. He suckled greedily at the sensitive bud, plucking and rolling the other between deft fingers.

Rosalie cried out her pleasure, threading her slender fingers through his short hair and holding him to his activities.

The man growled his approval, nipping the peak before shifting his attention to its twin.

Every suckle, every flicker of his roughened tongue sent jolts of awareness to Rosalie's clit. The woman was writhing desperately beneath her lover, wanting more from him.

"Tell me what you need, little dove." He purred, letting his lips brush teasingly over the aching mounds.

"I need _you_." She whimpered plaintively, skirting her nails down his sides so goosebumps erupted all over his body.

"You have me." He husked innocently, playing hard to get.

A little growl of frustration worked its way out of Rosalie even as she grinned. She truthfully rather enjoyed his playfulness, but she was in dire need and was not about to be derailed from her pursuits at this stage.

"You know what I mean." She smiled impishly, letting out a giggle as her toes snagged his boxers, tugging the offending material down his defined thighs in one fell swoop.

Raymond chuckled for her clever tactics. The sultry sound reverberating through his chest, arousing his lover further.

The thick appendage between his legs bobbed heavily at its reveal, lengthening further at the moan of longing which echoed from Rosalie upon seeing the object of her desire.

"You're a resourceful little minx." Red teased, leaning to kiss her again as he pulled the garment from his legs.

The pair moaned softly when the velvety skin of his cock brushed Rosalie's thighs.

"Please, Raymond." She whispered, a tremor wracking her frame. A soft hand reached between them to grasp his straining erection, sliding along the hot, rigid flesh teasingly.

Masculine fingers grasped Rosalie's hips, the touch bruising in its intensity. Red's infamous control was dangling by a rapidly fraying thread. He let out a guttural moan when she stroked his fattening length, spurring him to new lust-addled heights.

The digits on her hips curled into the lace covering her sex, the last scrap of fabric hiding her delectable body from his view.

Raymond peppered the plane of her tummy with wet, open-mouthed kisses. When he reached the swell of her hips, he pulled the lace down a mere inch.

Rosalie yelped when he bestowed another love bite on the pristine expanse of skin. Her fingers carded through his hair, the little nails dragging along the back of his neck.

The touch goaded Red further. With a deep groan of satisfaction, he tugged the dark lace from its resting place, baring her from head to toe. The man's mouth followed the trail her panties led down her slender legs.

A sigh of relief escaped them both as they were finally freed from every last stitch of clothing.

Raymond looked down at his lover, taking time to memorize the way she looked in that moment.

"You are so beautiful, Rosalie." He murmured ardently, tracing his fingertips along her satin skin, smiling softly at the goosebumps left in his wake.

It was an odd, specific kind of melancholy Red felt, realizing he would never see her like this again. The last fleeting seconds before they finally made love.

The woman's eyes held his gently, a deeper understanding passing between them. "I'm yours, darling." She promised, sitting up to claim his lips in a sweet, sensual caress.

Red returned the affection with interest, crawling up Rosalie's frame so she rested against the plush mattress once again. His arms bracketed her little head as the man reached for the top drawer of the nightstand.

Rosalie turned her head, peppering his arms and chest with kisses.

The man pulled a condom from the treasure trove in the drawer, tearing it open quick as a flash.

His lover snatched it from him, smiling coyly as she unraveled it onto his throbbing erection.

The action was erotic as hell, tearing a broken moan from his chest.

Raymond watched the small hands stroke him lovingly, teasing the hot, hard length.

Rosalie was enamoured with the thick appendage, eyeing the weeping head which would soon be spreading her wide with a mixture of nervousness and hunger.

Red's mouth went bone dry as he watched her lick those rosy lips, leaving them with a bright shine he longed to kiss off.

Fathoms deep grey eyes sought him again before she wriggled her hips closer to him in invitation.

"Please, Raymond." She pleaded, batting those long lashes up at him.

The man exhaled shakily, the sight all too arousing. He took himself in hand and pressed between her thighs. "Open for me, little dove." He commanded, a rumble of satisfaction escaping him as her lovely legs spread without hesitation.

He guided the fat crown toward her glistening lips. She was soaking wet and shaking for him. The knowledge filled Red to the brim with an elated, possessive need.

Time seemed to stop as the bulbous head of his penis dragged along her clit, coaxing another rush of wetness from her center. The slick arousal coated his twitching shaft, easing his path into the welcoming little hole.

Rosalie moaned loudly when he breached her folds. Her tight heat cradled his head lovingly, drawing on the sensitive crown in an erratic rhythm.

Red groaned soulfully, shuddering as his aching head was teased by her trembling pussy. He held himself still in her shallow depths until he could stand it no longer, then pushed further into her cushioned warmth. The swollen flesh of her labia caressed his hot and straining shaft perfectly, sending frissons of pleasure along Raymond's body. Ever so slowly, he inched forward, getting lost in the sensual pull of her scorching body.

The little alcove delighted in his invasion even as it squeezed him tighter than a vice.

Raymond gasped with the effort of pushing into the tight passage. It was a perfect combination of impossibly snug and deliciously wet, coaxing him deeper and deeper, seeking every last inch he could provide.

Rosalie's breathing was already labored, the man's thick member was spreading her so wonderfully. Her hands trailed in a restless pattern over his chest and back as he slowly, mercilessly inched forward. Her hips jerked involuntarily to meet him, driving the ramrod erection a few inches deeper.

A chorus of pleasured sounds erupted from them both at the movement.

Red brushed his lips against Rosalie's then leaned back and caught her eyes as he thrust forward, seating himself fully in her sodden, clenching depths.

"Oh, _God_." She quaked around him, her pussy fluttering helplessly as it tried to accommodate the fullness of his rigid girth.

Raymond rasped at the feel of the painfully tight walls rippling around his shaft. "God, Rosalie, you feel so good." He growled desperately into her mouth, riding out her body's tremors.

Rosalie's hands grasped the back of his neck, pulling him back into a passionate kiss. Her hips rut wantonly against his, trying desperately to ease some of the ache between her thighs.

"You're so ready for me, aren't you?" Red husked, shifting so his pelvis brushed against the hood of her sex.

The sensation sent jolts through his lover's body, causing her little pussy to throb around him.

"I n-_need_-" her breath forcibly hitched when Raymond slid slowly out of her, only to thrust languidly back in. "_Yes_! " She mewled, bucking into him.

The man set a slow, shiver-inducing pace. The long, heavy drag of his shaft allowed Rosalie to feel every inch of his rock hard member as he rocked a steady rhythm into her core.

"I _love_ when I make your breath hitch like that. " He smiled, leaning to place another love bite at the base of her neck.

The feminine sounds he was pulling from her throat with each thrust were driving the man wild. She had been responsive to every one of his advances from the start, but she was especially vocal when wrapped snugly around his cock.

Red sat back on his knees, pulling her hips flush with his and slowly increasing the tempo.

"_So tight, so perfect_. " He crooned, pumping her vital body steadily. "Look at this sweet little hole, taking my thick cock right to the fucking hilt."

A radiant blush flooded Rosalie from head to toe at his statement and his vulgarity. Her eyes fell to the sight of their union, watching in heated fascination as the glistening shaft delved forward only to reappear seconds later, coated in her slick arousal. The visual of what he was doing to her stirred her pleasure to greater heights.

A thready moan reached Raymond's ears as he found an angle that made her shudder. Her little nails bit into his back as he ravaged that sweet spot, thrilling in the desperate mewls of pleasure which cascaded from his lover's mouth.

"Fuck…me…" She moaned, back arching with spine tingling pleasure.

Red moved to meet her needs, thrusting powerfully into her receptive body. His mouth dropped to suckle on her left breast, garnering the sweetest sigh of relief he had ever heard.

"Yes…God…Just like that. " Rosalie mewed, her thighs beginning to quake tremulously around Raymond's waist. Her heels pressed into the space above his rounded ass, working in time with her hips to meet his thrusts.

"You're going to cum for me, little dove." He commanded huskily, the need to see and feel her orgasm a sudden biological imperative.

Rosalie let out a despondent whimper, wanting to meet his sensual demand.

Red recognized the desperate noise, feeling it resonate in the very tip of his cock.

The woman tugged her lover back into her sphere, latching her kiss-swollen mouth to the base of his neck.

Raymond released a guttural moan when he felt her suck hard, leaving a dark red mark of her own on the man's skin. The sensation felt so damn good, Red felt his balls tighten spasmodically.

"Not fucking yet." He growled, pulling her mouth away from the spot below his earlobe, where she had been tonguing and suckling feverishly.

Her protest was silenced by Red's mouth capturing her breast. The straining nipples rejoiced at being reunited with his talented hands and scorching mouth.

Rosalie keened from the sweet torture, all the while, her lover continued to nail her into the plush bed.

"Please, please don't stop." The plea was offered in urgent supplication as she teetered on an excruciating edge.

Raymond thrust sharply, bouncing her small frame off his driving shaft. He plundered the drenched hole, hitting her g spot at just the right angle. The man grunted like an animal when he felt her tight little pussy clench around him.

"_Yes_, that's it," he praised, toes curling at the incredible sensation of her release. "Come for me, Rosalie. Come on my cock."

Her lover's voice rumbled soothingly along her skin as he thrust tirelessly into her, suckling her tormented breasts until a broken howl of pleasure was ripped from her throat.

Rosalie was delirious with ecstasy. Her orgasm crashed over her, the pleasure singeing each and every nerve ending between her thighs. "_Raymond_!" She cried out, her body bucking against the masculine frame still thrusting into her.

Raymond revelled in the way she called his name, at once pleading and praising as her trembling pussy bathed his shaft in her orgasm. The hot, wet cream made the tight tunnel deliciously slick, allowing his cock to move more easily inside her.

Rosalie let out a string of wonderful, feminine moans as he rode her through her peak. She slowly eased down from her high, wrapping herself tightly around Red's warm, comforting bulk.

Raymond had eased his thrusts to a slower, gentler tempo, smiling smugly as his lover's trembling finally slowed.

"I love the way you make love to me." She crooned in his ear, running her tongue sensually along the sensitive ridge.

It was Red's turn to tremble as she continued to purr erotically, the dying vestiges of her orgasm rippling over his aching head.

"You make me ache and tremble in ways I've never felt before." She confided, gasping when he thrust more forcefully in response.

The man was focused on the tight sheath surrounding his member, seeking the pinnacle for which he had been so deeply longing.

Rosalie's head fell back at the onslaught, a husky snarl leaving her full lips.

Red grinned, delighting in the carnal sound, knowing he was responsible for it. "Tell me more." He pleaded, restless palms kneading and caressing her at every avenue.

"You feel incredible." She panted, already invested in the familiar coiling sensation overtaking her abdomen. "The way you possess me, move me, fuck me. God, Raymond, it's so good." Her body was doubly sensitive from her previous orgasm, and the man's heavy shaft was rapidly leading her into another powerful peak.

The man's breathing was labored, his body taut with need as he pummeled the volcanic depths swallowing his manhood whole.

"Come for me, Raymond." His lover whispered in a lusty gasp, nearly shattering him then and there.

"You first." He growled, reaching down to circle her clit expertly.

He was rewarded with a delectable, tortured whimper as the woman's pussy began to throb and clench again.

"Harder," she moaned, her voice joining her body's pleas for release, coaxing him deeper into her tightly coiled heat.

The massive four poster shifted slightly with the force of the man's thrusts as he rapidly approached his climax.

"God _damn_," he rasped, gripping her hips tightly and pulling her into his driving force. "Fuck, Rosalie, I need…" Words failed him for what could ease the ache in his groin. Acting on instinct, he dropped his mouth to her pert, pink nipples, suckling in time with his thrusts as he fingered her clit determinedly.

His lover cried out, her body bowed from the overstimulation.

"Come for me, honey. " He pleaded shakily, needing the release so badly it hurt. "Come on my cock again."

The quivering hole rippled violently, giving in to his relentless coaxing.

Sparking grey eyes held lust-blown green, willing him to surrender to their shared passion.

"With me." She begged, her little nails biting frantically into the mottled flesh of his back.

The scratching sensation made his testicles tighten forcefully, coupling with the wild fluttering of her sex to send the man careening over the edge.

The animalistic snarl of carnal completion which left Raymond's mouth ricocheted off the rafters, echoing loudly in the spacious room.

Rosalie arched to meet him, the sound of his pleasure sending goosebumps down her spine as his thick cock slammed into her clenching pussy. The hard fucking forced a sweet, tremulous moan from her ragged throat.

The feminine sounds cascading from her spurred Red on, making his hips jerk erratically.

"God, _yes_." He panted, his lover's body still trembled and twitched around him as Raymond surrendered to his body's demands.

"Oh yes…Fuck, I'm cumming." Red rasped, feeling the first pulse of his sensitive slit fill the condom. "_Fuck_!" The man gritted, the relentless heat massaging his shaft endlessly.

"God, Rosalie, you feel so good ." He shuddered, riding the waves of pleasure within her quaking frame. Red's thrusts slowed with each pulse of his cock, her climax wringing out every last drop of his release.

The man fought to catch his breath as he relaxed into his lover, allowing his weight to envelop her. "My little dove." He crooned raggedly, nuzzling her nose in open affection.

Rosalie mewed contentedly even as her breasts still heaved from the exertion. "That was… _incredible_." She sighed, cradling Raymond's cheek and kissing him in a languid, gentle caress.

"Why on earth did we wait so long?" He questioned innocently, emitting a sensual chuckle when he felt her lips twitch their annoyance beneath his. Slender fingers threaded through his short, tousled hair, sending goosebumps along his spent frame. Red leaned back to admire the effect of his joke, laughing deeply at the little scowl which greeted him.

"You and your damned sense of nobility." She growled, donning an effective pout which tugged at the man's resolve. "We could have been doing this for months."

Raymond grinned broadly, "Well, I should do my best to make it up to you, shouldn't I?" He asked, dropping his hand to trace the silky skin of her torso.

"I should think so." She breathed in a tremulous voice, his touch reigniting the fire in her belly.

Red watched, enchanted as her breasts tightened before his eyes and a telling flush bloomed on her chest and cheeks. The sight stirred his previously sated cock, coaxing the rod back to rigidity in a matter of moments.

"Thank goodness I've got seven long days, and seven _long_ nights to make amends." He purred.


	18. Suits & Stockings

Raymond and Rosalie collapsed exhausted and panting several hours later, the sheets crumpled haphazardly about their spent forms. A soft sheen of sweat shone on their skin, left raw and flushed by their passionate endeavors. They had yet to leave the bedroom, preferring to spend the entire night alternating between rambunctious bouts between the sheets and curling up together in sated contentment.

Red now lay on his side, one leg entwined with his lover's, an arm wrapped about her curves to trail lazy fingers along the supple skin of her torso.

Rosalie's hand cradled his head to her shoulder, fingertips carding through his soft, short hair in soothing circles.

Their attachment and affection grew with every touch, every stroke, every word uttered in quaking pleasure under the golden sun which still refused to set on their lovemaking.

"God…Raymond." She swallowed, trying in vain to catch the breath which had been stolen from her.

A deep groan of agreement could be heard from the vicinity of her chest, making the woman sigh melodiously.

The pair were turning out to be extremely compatible bed partners, each meeting the needs of the other before a plea could even leave their lips.

A minute aftershock rippled through Rosalie as her mind drifted to the man in her arms.

Raymond Reddington had delivered, in every aspect of the word.

He had taken her, moulded her to his heavy cock and the plush bed to which he pinned her, bringing her to trembling ecstasy again and again until the woman could want for nothing. She shattered into his waiting embrace, gladly taking him with her into trembling bliss.

The pair shivered as the room rapidly began to cool their burning bodies.

"We should get up soon…" mumbled Rosalie, barely able to keep her eyes open.

"Later." Red yawned, tugging the blankets over them and pulling her into a tight embrace before he too was lulled into a deep sleep.

Raymond awoke much later when the woman in his arms stirred, wriggling from his grasp.

"Where do you think you're going?" He grumbled sleepily, reaching to tug the warm bundle back into his sphere.

Rosalie giggled as she was forcibly dragged back across the spacious bed. "I'm going to order us supplies, we will have to eat sometime this week, you know." She teased, turning to pepper his cheek with kisses.

Red leaned into the gesture, humming his enjoyment before pointedly cupping the valley of her thighs, an eyebrow quirking suggestively.

"Oh, well keep that in mind," Rosalie purred, pupils dilating slightly. She kissed him once again before rolling onto her stomach, away from his arousing influence.

Raymond yawned and stretched, a relaxed grunt rumbling from his throat, born of the sated ache in the man's body. Their amorous activities had engaged long forgotten muscle groups, leaving a delightful soreness in its wake.

Rosalie was a thrilling lover, eloquent and inventive in her lovemaking. Raymond had watched her in awe each time they fell into a tangle of lips and tongues and trembling limbs. He had watched as her body sought him, possessed him, relented to him, how she had left no inch of the man unexplored. She had met Red's passion ounce for ounce, inundating his very bones with rapturous pleasure until he could do nothing but follow her into euphoria.

A devilish smirk crossed the man's features as his eyes traveled to the beautiful dip of the woman's back, bared from the top of her shoulders to the base of her spine for his viewing pleasure.

She dialed her associate, a heavy-sounding Norwegian lad answering the call.

Without hesitating, Red leaned to drop his lips along the plains and valleys of the woman beside him, nuzzling her silky skin to his heart's content.

Gentle hands moved to trail up and down Rosalie's body, keeping her mind distracted with what was waiting for her the moment she hung up the phone. The woman sighed her enjoyment, lips curling into a smile around the request for a small order of kitchen staples and two extra sets of sheets and linens. She added a mysterious order for a box 'BOR13S' with a barely contained mew as Raymond's warm hands continued to move languidly over her.

Red had always prided himself on his formidable self control and endless patience in strenuous negotiations. It was one of his strong suits as a fugitive, being able to keep a cool head until the perfect moment arrived to unleash his plans.

This personality trait, however, did not seem to extend to his engagement with the enticing blonde beneath him.

He watched in resigned amusement as his traitorous hand reached out of its own accord, all strategy gone, grasping the sheet covering Rosalie's prone form and pulling it down slowly to reveal the swell of her naked posterior inch by magnificent inch.

He'd had the best of intentions, truly. Raymond had merely sought to show his affection while she ordered their supplies.

His roaring libido, however, had different plans.

Really, he thought, who could blame him? There was a beautiful woman right there, perfectly within reach, barely covered and positively enchanting in the sun's golden glow. He couldn't be expected to control his baser impulses under such circumstances, not this early in the game. She was too enticing, the possibilities too arousing, his cock too damn hard to even consider behaving himself.

The loss of her only covering didn't seem to faze the woman at all, she merely arched her backside in open enticement. The wily creature turned and winked at Red, catching sight of his rigid erection and throwing a saucy little wiggle his way.

Raymond flashed a wicked grin and popped the smooth curve of her ass with his palm in response, issuing an incredibly satisfying smack, which echoed loudly in the tall room.

Rosalie quickly covered the receiver as a wanton squeak leapt from her lips.

"Behave." She hissed, casting him an admonishing glance. She received a wolffish smile in response, forcing the woman to change tack at top speed.

"Be a good boy, or I'll order those Belgian chocolates you hate."

The playful threat was met with a dark scowl from her counterpart, who, regardless of the fact he was still showering her in affection, issued a low noise of discontent. "Then I suggest you don't tease me with this tight little-"

Rosalie reached back, covering his mouth with her hand and barely containing her laughter. "Don't you dare finish that sentence." She growled, not wanting her associate to realize she was bedding one of her clients.

Red sniggered, begrudgingly allowing the woman a moment's reprieve from his more instigative antics. He had just brushed her hand away when his stomach gave an audible growl.

"Can I satisfy any particular craving?" Rosalie asked, tilting her head straight back and locking amused eyes with her hungry lover.

"Chocolates." Grunted Raymond in an impish undertone, placing his lips to her brow before kissing a searing trail down her back. "Not the Belgian kind." He insisted peevishly, swirling his tongue against the dimples at the base of her spine.

The sensation made Rosalie squirm and bite back a giggle as she dictated his wants.

"Wine…you know which ones I like." Red continued, running a broad hand down her legs and spreading them slowly apart.

"...Things I can eat off of you."

Rosalie couldn't hold back a squeal when she felt his teeth nip high up on her inner thigh. The action both surprised and aroused, forcing her to apologize profusely to her associate while Raymond's sultry chuckle filled the room. She made up a feasible lie about seeing a spider, ordering the remaining requests in a rush before blessedly ending the call.

"You are incorrigible!" Rosalie insisted, though Raymond could plainly see the bright smile illuminating her face before she buried it in his pillow.

The man let his weight envelop her, feeling the feminine frame relax into him. "How much time do we have?" He husked in her ear, enjoying the goosebumps which erupted along her body at the request.

Now Red stopped to think about it, he had no clue what time it was, if it was day or night, or even how long they had been there.

A quick glance around the room revealed a small clock, telling him it was shortly after eleven in the morning the following day. A broad smile lit the man's features as he realized they still had six days of blissful solitude awaiting them.

"About an hour." Rosalie sighed, turning so she could wrap herself around him. She beamed dreamily upward, taking in the arousing sight that was a disheveled Raymond Reddington. His normally debonair facade was deliciously ruffled, the aura of the towering criminal giving way to an alluring, boyish charm.

Rosalie could feel his broad frame, still as naked as she, resting between her thighs.

Red smiled fondly back at her, happy to hold still for her appreciative perusal of his person.

The woman reached up to card her fingers through his hair, recalling how she had done so over and over last night. A tinkling laugh left her lips, realizing the short locks stood practically on end from her playing.

Rosalie was quite certain her hair was faring no better, recalling how Raymond had seemed to love burying his hands in the teeming curls. Hour after hour, he had gently tugged them this way and that to expose more of her sensitive flesh to his wanderings.

The recollection made the woman blush, recalling how her lover's mouth had aggressively marked her throughout the night, and how she had voiced her pleasure with each and every one.

Though a couple marks could be seen on Red's neck and chest, they were nowhere near the array left on the young innkeeper. The dozen or so love bites which now riddled her hips, neck, breasts, and thighs stood out spectacularly against her slightly lighter skin.

Raymond was glad to see she was in such a good humour, that addictive little laugh pairing nicely with the pink flush flooding her skin as he raked burning green eyes over his handiwork.

Truthfully, Red wasn't entirely sure what had come over him last night.

Normally, a love bite here and there was only to be expected in the throes of passion, but this… This, he knew, had been quite deliberate.

Raymond remembered the words he had uttered like a mantra as the beautiful woman quivered beneath him, above him, beside him, marked from every angle she could be taken.

"Come for me, Rosalie, just for me."

Just for me.

Raymond considered jealousy a base emotion, a tell of insecurity. This possessiveness, he told himself, was born of a different emotion. Red had always felt the desire to shelter the woman beneath him, from the very beginning of their acquaintance. The need to protect her had been built moment by moment as their partnership became a friendship and their friendship became a relationship. Last night, Raymond had felt those same sensations combine with something wholly new, a desire for belonging. He wanted to belong to her and she to him, as completely as one could belong to another human being. With every touch, that belonging seemed to inch closer and closer to his grasp.

The call to claim her had been impossible to resist after waiting for so long.

Every moment of the previous night seemed to linger in the air between the two as they lay ensconced in each other's arms. Raymond's sensual baritone floated in a ghostly echo along the rafters, keeping time with a possessive corner of his soul which thrummed a steady pulse at the sight of Rosalie's pristine skin speckled with the bright red evidence of his desire. The sensation of her tender flesh in his mouth, the sounds which poured from her lips each time Red had felt compelled to mark her as his own, every second hovered palpably between them in the early morning light.

The flashbacks awakened the fire in Rosalie, who felt her lover's body stiffening in response to the feeling of her, warm, wet, and squirming impatiently beneath him. She wrapped her arms about his neck, pulling his lips to hers and kissing him with a quiet intensity.

A roguish laugh could be heard as the little minx shifted them, taking Raymond to his back and wasting no time in unravelling a condom onto his twitching shaft.

"Ride me." He commanded softly, guiding her heat to envelope him once more. A delectable little shiver raced up his lover's spine, followed by the sinful sound of her bare bottom impacting with his stocky thighs.

Rosalie gasped, catching her lip between her teeth and sighing her relief as Raymond arched to meet her.

Reddington watched his business partner in undisguised amusement as she scurried about the suite, hurriedly donning some clothes. Her property manager was ten minutes out, having called her once he entered the initial gate leading to the property.

The woman's legs were like that of a newborn giraffe courtesy of their impromptu quickie, and Raymond couldn't help but snigger to himself, seeing one of her thighs give a little spasm as she slid into an emerald silk skirt.

"Oh hush, you." She groused, giggling in the next breath as she gripped the nearby bedpost.

Taking pity on her rather charming predicament, Red stood, stepping around the bed to assist with the slippery garment.

"Why bother getting dressed?" He asked, guiding the silk up her shapely legs. Once the skirt was zipped, his hands continued their ascent, following the full curves of her waist and hips.

"Do you often greet your associates in your underwear?" Rosalie questioned pointedly, batting his wandering hands away. "I can't very well go meeting one of my property managers in a negligee."

A lewd chuckle resonated from Red's throat as he shook his head. She had him there. It was unheard of for him to be seen out of his suits, let alone in the state of undress Rosalie was currently sporting. He let her finish dressing in peace, opting to simply slip a robe over his bare torso and sleep pants.

The image caught Rosalie's eye as she was applying a touch of makeup in the vanity mirror.

"I love the new suit." She quipped dryly, a little put out that she had to get dressed while he was obviously remaining in his current attire.

Red's tongue prodded his cheek, catching the woman giving him an appreciative and blatant once-over. "He's not my associate." The man reasoned, swaggering off into the living area.

Rosalie nabbed her nylons and a pair of pumps before following him out into the space, seating herself on the ottoman in front of him.

Raymond had plucked a novel from the ever-present bookshelves, settling himself in one of the cushy armchairs for a bit of light reading. He thumbed through the pages, quickly finding his desired chapter.

Rosalie set about donning her customary stockings, ears pricked for the sound of a car pulling into the drive.

Red cocked his head, thoroughly distracted from his pastime, watching intently as the delicate material was slid up her toned legs. "What is it about thigh highs?…" He questioned, voice trailing off when the woman hiked her skirt to clip the garter straps.

She caught his roaming eyes with a smile, "What do you mean?"

"They're old fashioned," said Raymond, working to assemble a thought pattern which didn't involve him tearing the damn things off. "They're not particularly necessary, yet I don't think I've ever seen you without them. Why?"

"Why do you wear a three piece suit?" She countered, quirking a lone brow.

"Touché." He conceded with a smirk. He was just about to answer her question when a soft chime could be heard throughout the home.

Rosalie sighed, "That'll be him."

The woman slipped into her black pumps, bending to brush her lips against Raymond's. "Hold that thought, yeah? I'm more than a little curious."

"We'll pick up where we left off, as soon as we're rid of the interloper." Red promised, gesturing her toward the stairs.

The woman strode the length of the home, brushing imaginary lint from her skirt before she reached the doorway.

Raymond watched in fascination as her delicate shoulders settled into a straight line, her back elongated, and her chin lifted ever so slightly. The mask of the criminal settled neatly into place.

Clever grey eyes swiveled to his, the woman he adored glinting clearly within. With a quick wink, she descended the stairs to greet her associate.

A thousand new questions swirled in Red's mind as he watched her go. Even more than her attire, he was intrigued by what made her criminal side tick. The hidden and unexpected corners of her hovered like a puzzle before him, just waiting to be solved.

Rosalie and her associate ascended the stairs moments later with bags and boxes in hand.

Raymond stood, taking the parcels from the woman's arms, noticing there was something decidedly off-kilter about her body language.

She was fighting a losing battle with a radiant blush, and her voice was flat and clipped as she thanked him for carrying the items for her.

Her associate, a strapping red haired man built similar to Dembe and Horace, strode into the nearby kitchen with a boyish grin on his rosy face.

Red turned to Rosalie, an eyebrow silently asking the necessary questions.

She met his gaze, mouthing 'Later.' before following the other man into the kitchen. "Kenneth, this is Lucas, my property manager for the Baltics and Scandinavia. Lucas, this is Kenneth Rathers, he's a preferred client of mine."

The men shook hands, the younger seemed politely amused, the older, rather suspicious.

"Mr. Rathers," Lucas beamed, his mouth slightly obscured by a bushy red goatee. "I do hope you enjoy your stay here in Norway. You've lucked into one of the best sites in the network."

Raymond nodded amicably, though his green eyes held an intense scrutiny. A dozen scenarios for what had rattled Rosalie were flitting through his mind, most of which centered on untoward behavior from the cheeky-looking boy across from him.

Rosalie stared pointedly up at Red, shaking her head a fraction of an inch.

"Tell me, Lucas, what part of Norway do you hail from?" The older man asked, easily glossing over the awkward pause.

The property manager grinned, "Hedmark, though my wife and I now reside in Oslo."

The group made small talk for a respectable spell, the two fugitives relying mostly on Lucas's ability to talk about his family to fill the appropriate amount of time before he could be politely ushered out.

Handshakes were exchanged again before the fellow turned to his employer. "Should you need anything else, Frøken Øllegaard, don't hesitate to ask."

Rosalie smiled softly, "Thank you, Lucas, allow me to walk you out."

Red waited as the pair made their way down the stairs, listening closely as the safehouse door was closed and a truck engine started in the drive. The young innkeeper's heels could be heard in the entryway, then climbing the spiral staircase, halting for a moment at the ensuite before ascending into the living area.

The man didn't even pause for her to fully enter the room. "What on earth has you so flustered?"

Rosalie stood in the doorway with resigned expression. She could only look at the floor as she held aloft… her blouse from the day before.

"As bold as brass in the doorway to the bath." She grimaced, "There's no way he didn't notice."

Raymond tried in vain to hide a very smug grin, remembering, now, how they had left a trail of clothing leading to the bedroom like an age-old cliché. "Oh dear," he concurred, barely able to contain his mirth.

"I got dressed for nothing, and now an associate knows I'm sleeping with a client." Rosalie bemoaned, shaking her head and putting a hand over her eyes.

Her lover roared with laughter, gathering the sheepish woman in his arms.

She burrowed into his embrace, smiling in spite of herself as his deep laughter resonated against her ear. Warm, masculine hands roamed her back and shoulders, soothing some of her chagrin. She wriggled her hands beneath Raymond's robe, skirting her nails along his back and torso.

"There are worse things, Rosalie. But, you know, we can easily remedy this whole clothing situation." Red intoned, fingering the zipper of her skirt pointedly.

"Mmm…" Rosalie nuzzled deeper into his hold, "I need to unload the contents of those first." She grumbled, pointing at the offending items on the kitchen' marble island.

An amused chuckle met her ears, "We'll do it quickly," Raymond compromised, his chin resting atop her blonde curls. A firm hand dropped to pat her bottom, ushering Rosalie into the kitchen as he released her.

The man set about unboxing the kitchen supplies first. Staples like olive oil, vinegar, butter, and salt were packed neatly within. Alongside those were an assortment of other ingredients including herbs, proteins, and a colorful array of vegetables. Everything was wonderfully fresh, ensuring they would have delicious meals for the week. Raymond was already throwing together ingredients in his mind, eager to sample what Rosalie would come up with and hopefully show off his own culinary prowess as well.

While Red was filling the small fridge to capacity with their haul, Rosalie unpacked the requested linens, tucking them safely into the bedroom's dressers. Fluffy towels and a warm throw blanket followed after, the latter being draped over the sofa's arm.

One large parcel was left, the mystery box she had ordered.

"What's this?" Questioned Raymond, staring thoughtfully at the stark black labeling on the box's exterior.

"It's a box of our staples, specific to this house." Rosalie answered, continuing her march toward the bath, the stack of fluffy towels in tow.

His curiosity sufficiently piqued, Red popped the lid on the mysterious package. Within the box was an assortment of his most favored items.

A jar of wildflower honey was nestled beside his preferred bath products. The chocolates he requested were nestled alongside several bottles of Châteux Margaux in varying vintages, as well as a smaller bottle of his favorite scotch. Along with a few of the stolen Cubans from the Castro debacle, a deep blue robe was nestled inside, framed by staples Red recognized as belonging to Rosalie.

The man grinned as he saw her smaller robe in a pale grey cashmere, two tubes of lip balm she was notorious for leaving behind, a small bottle of her preferred gin, and a variety of other accoutrements specific to her.

"Box BOR13S." Chimed Rosalie from the doorway, seeing the man had already broken into the treasure trove.

"What does that acronym stand for?" Asked Red, unloading the exciting bounty.

"The first and last letters correspond to the type of home and the season, respectively. B for blacksite, H for safehouse, the letter at the end is S for Summer, F for Fall, etcetera." Rosalie explained, taking the liquor to the nearby bar cart. "The number corresponds to my master list for blacksites. If this were merely a safehouse, it would have the street name or nickname. The letters before that, O&R, indicate the last names of the occupants, in this case, just you and I."

"And if we had Dembe and Horace with us?" Raymond asked, putting some of the small batch Ecuadorian coffee beans he so enjoyed in the nearby grinder.

"Then there would be a Z and a J in that grouping as well." She said, picking up the tall bottles of Château Margaux and carefully storing them in the wine fridge, already set at the appropriate temperature for the vintage.

"This is how you do it, catering your homes to your specific clientele?" The man asked, pleased at unravelling of a portion of the maze that was her empire.

"That's the gist of it," Rosalie nodded slyly, "Though only my top tier clients get the full treatment. I can't cater to every Tom, Dick, or Harry."

Red glanced again at the O stamped on the box's side, a point of curiosity occurring to him.

"Many criminals go by a moniker or mononym of some sort. You don't. Why is that?"

"I've always considered such things to be earned or at the very least bestowed by the masses. Giving oneself such a name gives off a distinct air of fragile ego. I much prefer-" she halted her explanation, staring mouth agape at Reddington. "Um… Please tell me you didn't choose 'The Concierge of Crime'?"

Raymond nearly snorted with laughter, "No, my dear, I didn't choose any of the monikers I've been bestowed. I prefer to simply go by my name."

The woman relaxed visibly, glad she had not accidentally insulted him. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously when a mischievous smile quirked at Red's lips. "What?" She asked.

"Nothing." He said, still grinning to himself.

Rosalie wasn't fooled, her gaze fell steadily on the man, willing him to fess up.

Raymond found the exchange rather amusing, truth be told. He finally relented with a snigger. "How about, 'The Ill-Behaved Innkeeper?'"

His counterpart laughed aloud at the suggestion. "Absolutely not."

"'Mistress of the House'?" He intoned, swaggering toward her.

She wrinkled her nose. "No."

"They could call you Mistress for short." He purred, popping the buttons of her blouse with a casual flick of his index finger.

Rosalie gasped as the swell of her breasts was exposed to him.

Red flashed a devious grin, slowly backing her into the bedroom.

"Madam Aubergiste?" He growled, the French lilt rolling delightedly off his tongue.

Rosalie mewed, arousal already pooling within her. "L'Aubergiste c'est ennuyeux," she insisted, reaching down to tug roughly at his robe. "Tell me more about this Mistress business."

An enticing growl could be heard from her captive as the woman took control, pulling the Concierge of Crime into a tangle of limbs.

Rosalie stood in the kitchen, tossing back water as though she had spent the past week in the Sahara. Something about the way she had been making the bed had awakened his arousal, resulting in a spirited quickie which had left her bent over the foot of the bed, spent and quaking from its intensity.

The damn bed still wasn't made.

Their antics had grown more rambunctious, more uninhibited as time passed in the blacksite. It seemed no surface was safe from their bouts of rapacious need.

Rosalie had become intimately acquainted with every piece of furniture in the home, to include the bedroom dresser and more than one of the enormous floor to ceiling windows. The woman giggled softly, shaking her head when she recalled how Raymond had delighted in having her assume the position against the glass surface.

Down the hall, the door of the master bedroom opened with a click.

The man in question prowled into the living space, seeking out his lover. He found her where she stood, glass raised mid-sip. Red's green eyes raked her with a bravado borne of seeing her come undone at his slightest provocation.

He knew, now, what made her wild, what coaxed the primal creature within her out to play. He knew what it took to make her tremble and shake, to cry out his name like he was the patron saint of her ecstasy.

Rosalie was caught behind the man's burning gaze, green orbs holding her paralyzed as the Concierge of Crime closed in on her.

"I'm not finished with you, pet." He crooned, reaching to cradle her sex lovingly.

Rosalie quaked, her over-sensitized nerves screaming their desire as two large fingers traced the outline of her swollen lips.

The woman's arms latched around Red's neck, pulling his mouth to hers as she was lifted to the nearby countertop. She reached between them and plucked the loosely tied string of his sleep pants. Her little hands tugged on the waistband, pulling her growling counterpart closer to her while loosening the garment's drawstrings.

The man eased the delicate straps of her negligee down her shoulders, watching with undisguised delight as the garment pooled at the dip in her waist.

Rosalie felt her breasts tighten under his intense gaze. "How is it possible for you to make me ache just by looking at me?" She wondered aloud, arching into the sensation of his warm mouth dragging along the plump mounds.

The woman tugged deftly at the man's bottoms, sending the garment pooling to the floor. A little mewl of arousal issued from her mouth as she felt his rock hard head brush her sex.

The unbridled feminine sound gave the man gooseflesh.

Raymond had preemptively donned another condom, confident she would be receptive to his advances. He let out a soulful groan as the tip of his cock breached the welcoming warmth, happy to be reunited with the tight, wet little alcove.

A firm hand pressed on Rosalie's sternum, urging her to lie back on the cool marble of the countertop. They had quickly learned the surface was the perfect height for activities not involving cooking.

Rosalie moaned throatily as his length worked its way into her tight heat.

Red watched in awe as the glistening shaft delved slowly into the sodden little hole, the visual combining with the incredible feeling of her quivering body relenting to his delightful intrusion.

"If there is anything more enticing than this, I'll eat my hat." He vowed, his eyes torn between watching the steady drag of his cock and watching the woman's hands, which were rolling and pinching her own nipples.

"Mmm…" moaned Rosalie, trailing slender digits down her body to feel where he was spreading her open. The small fingers brushed teasingly along the man's length with each stroke.

A mischievous little smile played upon her features as Rosalie looked coyly up at her lover. "I think you're obsessed with pinning me to things, Raymond." She teased, a high-pitched gasp tumbling from her mouth as he thrust sharply into her.

"How could anyone blame me…" Red grunted, lifting one of her slender legs to his shoulder, "when this is the view I'm afforded?" He gestured at her sprawled out form, his hand lingering in the area of her breasts, which were bouncing with each impact of his body against hers.

"Besides," he circled his thumb gently over her clit, "I think you enjoy a man who can stand and deliver." He quipped, the rogue comment bringing grins to both their faces.

Rosalie knew there was no argument for that accusation, she had been spurring her lover on every step of the way, instigating her fair share of their debauched escapades.

"Touché, lover boy." She conceded with a sigh, opening further to the pleasure he gave.

Raymond groaned, increasing the tempo of his thrusts and reaching forward to fondle one of her breasts.

A wanton cry reached his ears as Rosalie's back arched in pleasure. "Right there, huh, little dove?" He crooned knowingly, doubling his efforts against the sweet spot he had found.

Rosalie nodded desperately, a whimper escaping her lips as her toes began to curl.

Red held tight, keeping her feminine frame just where he wanted her as the sound of their bodies colliding filled the room. He turned to place a kiss to the leg draped against his shoulder. "I'll give you what you need." Raymond promised, thrusting steadily into her center. He continued to pound against her bruised depths until he felt her hips begin to buck and writhe against him.

"Please," she groaned, kneading one of her breasts in time with his thrusts. Her other hand dropped down to Red's which had been gripping her hip tightly.

The man threaded his thicker digits with her slender ones without a word, enjoying the intimate gesture as her vital young body wound tight around his aching cock.

"Give in, little dove." Raymond hissed, loving the ripple of pleasure pulsing through her sex. "There's no way I'm stopping."

The words took the woman easily over the edge. Hearing his loving, attentive words in that delicious, rumbling drawl made her legs spasm around her lover, who, to his credit didn't lose a single beat in his pleasurable pace.

As far as Rosalie and Raymond were concerned, it could have been three hours or three days since Lucas dropped off the supplies. Between the distinct lack of clocks in the house, their own amorous priorities, and the endless sunset pouring through the windows, the pair had little awareness of the outside world.

Neither one minded, finding they thoroughly enjoyed the lack of timekeeping and responsibilities. They followed the natural rhythm their bodies settled into, ate when they were hungry, slept when they were exhausted, and spent the remainder of their time enjoying each other's company.

Being natural night owls, they had managed to completely flip their sleep schedules in a short amount of time. They knew this because the sun followed a horizontal line across the house from left to right. The further right the sun was, the later it was in the day. Seeing the bright rays as far right as possible, they could deduce it was somewhere around midnight, and the cohorts had been up for at least a few hours.

Regardless of the time, they planned to actually venture outdoors, the beautiful Norwegian countryside beckoning them for a little outing. It had been Raymond's suggestion, after the man stumbled upon a wicker picnic basket in a hall closet. The idea captured both their interests, and the pair took to their plans with gusto, looking forward to an impromptu date outside the safehouse.

Rosalie was just finishing packing an assortment of culinary delights when Red strode out of the master suite in his standard suit, a sharp grey waistcoat paired with dark blue slacks, and a chocolate brown tie matching perfectly with his chosen fedora. He cut an impressive figure, striding across the home to nab a book from the shelves to take with them. The man tucked it neatly in the basket before lifting the whole assortment with a steady hand.

Rosalie took his offered arm, stopping to grab the large throw blanket from the sofa before following him out into the cool grounds.

Depending on the way they looked at it, it was either very late in the evening or the wee hours of the morning, meaning it was all of 50 degrees when they stepped out of the safehouse. This didn't seem to matter as the pair donned their jackets and hurried outside.

Rosalie led the way, taking them along a pebbled path in a wide arc heading North of the house.

They settled into a comfortable silence, enjoying the leisurely stroll.

As they rounded the curving trail, Raymond leaned to kiss her cheek, glancing appreciatively at the dress she wore beneath her leather jacket. It was a lovely warm taupe color, in a wrap style which hugged her figure nicely. The soft cashmere demanded Red's fingertips graze her curves, beckoning him with its rich texture. He stopped them in the middle of the path, an arm wrapping around the warm little bundle and pulling her close.

Rosalie beamed up at him, batting her lashes in a coy fashion before pressing her lips to his. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, warm and affectionate rather than the hot and bothered caresses they had been engaging in the past few days. The change of pace was appreciated by both, who sighed their enjoyment before continuing their walk along the property.

Twenty minutes later found the pair curled up on the large blanket beneath a lone towering tree. It was a curious looking thing, piquing Red's curiosity instantly.

"Is this a Harlequin Maple?" He asked, reaching to pick up one of the broad leaves, admiring its pale green border and dark emerald center.

"It is," nodded Rosalie, "The property is full of Harlequins, Crimson Kings, Birch, and Spruce, a few were naturally occurring, but I added many as I could get to grow when I first bought the place. Lucas is now in charge of making sure the local plant life flourishes."

Raymond settled with his back against the heavy trunk, setting his hat on the blanket along with his glasses. "You're quite the horticulturist." He commented, thinking back to several of the safehouses they had stayed in over the past year. Each and every one had native plants of some kind either out in the grounds or in elegant pots within the home.

"I'm an innkeeper, land is part of who I am, plus, I have a fondness for things that grow." Agreed Rosalie, settling the picnic basket at one end of the blanket before moving to curl up with Raymond. "My mother taught me how to tend a variety of plants. We had a little garden when I was young, a place to grow vegetables, fruits, and flowers during the summer."

Red pulled the woman so she rested between his legs, reclining serenely against his chest. "What did you grow?"

"Peppers, potatoes, garlic, squash, Momma did the tomatoes, I was pants at those."

"What did the tomatoes have against you?" He questioned, twirling one of her honey-colored curls around his finger.

"I don't know," She mused, "if I looked at them wrong they'd wilt and die. I think they did it out of spite, that, or the dog peed on them." A wide grin graced her lips when she heard Raymond's full, genuine laugh.

"You had a dog?"

"Of course we had a dog, some kind of Great Pyrenees mix named Ralph. Sweet as pie, but God did Ralph have a lot of energy. He used to chase the horses to blow off steam and my Dad would get so mad…" Her voice trailed off at the memory.

In their time together, Rosalie and Raymond had spoken very little about their respective childhoods, a piece here, a memory there. The woman's thoughts wandered back to her formative years, wondering if she and the man holding her would ever be in a scenario where they could tell each other the truth about who they had been and the lives they had lost to become who they were now.

Raymond's mind drifted off with her. A young Rosalie scampered about before his eyes, wild blonde curls fanning out behind her, all squeals and giggles as she ran through the soft grass after a lively little pup. Red could smell the scent of wet earth, see the stains left behind by the soil on her small feet. He watched in amusement as the turbulent grey eyes turned sullenly toward a withering tomato plant being coaxed back to life by a faceless blonde woman.

"…Did you ever have a dog?" Rosalie asked, glancing thoughtfully up at him.

Raymond shrugged, "We did. Though, I don't remember having him very long. My father wasn't particularly fond of pets."

The woman fiddled with his tie, her brow furrowing slightly at his response. "Was he kind, your father?"

A pointed silence met this question. Red thought of the man, a barely contained snarl tugging at his upper lip. He wondered how much he should tell his lover, how much he could afford for her to know. "Not particularly. He was a bit astringent, hard headed, not terribly affectionate." Raymond admitted honestly, deciding this bit of information wasn't too damning. He added, "I was much closer to my mother. She was infinitely kind, understanding. The kind of woman who made every insurmountable mountain seem like a mole hill, so deep was her love."

This soothed Rosalie greatly, a gentle smile warming her lips, glad for the knowledge his childhood was not without love and affection. The innkeeper turned and peered softly up at her counterpart, her fingers still absently stroking his tie.

A smile twitched at Raymond's lips, seeing her so pleased by what little he had divulged.

They nestled closer together, the cool breeze chilling them slightly.

Raymond leaned to pluck the book he'd brought from the basket. Settling Rosalie deeper in his hold, he flipped the book open and began to read aloud in his deep, soothing drawl.

They remained in this position for a long while, enjoying the simple pleasure of a good book in the outdoors.

Rosalie traced the knot in his tie until she could unravel and re-tie it in her mind, she then moved to his waistcoat, running her fingertips along the neckline and down to the breast pocket, feeling the outline of a small rectangle within. She wondered what it could be. Did Raymond really carry stamps? 'No,' she thought, 'it seems too big for that.' A ticket, perhaps, or some sort of business card?

Red could all but hear her mind whirring in the background, her intrigue regarding his attire resurfacing. He had forgotten about the small old photo which was usually tucked in his breast pocket. It was there moreso out of habit than anything, and he had been far too distracted of late to tuck it away for good.

It was not as though Raymond did not want to share this with her, it was simply too soon for her to know. He placed a warm palm over her hand, ceasing its movement while keeping it pressed firmly to his chest.

Rosalie's eyes flitted up to her lover's, a question being silently raised about the item in his pocket.

Raymond held her gaze steadily, communicating she was more than welcome to continue perusing his person, but the item she was currently outlining was off limits. "One day soon, we will talk about it." He promised, brushing his thumb along the back of her hand. "Just not today. That little square will raise more questions than it could ever answer, and I, for one, want nothing more than to spend these few precious days focused solely on us."

Rosalie searched his expression, finding it genuine. She understood what he meant, this uninterrupted time alone was extremely important to Raymond, as it was to her. This week was a rare moment to grow together, to solidify their connection, to play those games which only lovers played in the quiet sanctity of a space all their own.

The cold hard truth of the lives they had built for themselves was these times would be few and far between in their relationship. Though they would do everything in their power to make time, though they would be together day in and day out, would sleep in the same bed at night and wake curled together in the morning, they would have to contend with the world they lived in. They would have to share their precious time with associates, clients, allies and enemies, not to mention their ever-present security. There would always be something or someone to get in the way. There would come a day to discuss the past, to answer questions, to delve deep into the murky depths hidden behind them both, but it was not today.

These few days, passing in passionate hours spent together in an endless pursuit of the deepest intimacy and connection, these were the days which were fleeting. These were the ones which must be left undisrupted by the bitter winds of a long-forgotten past.

This time would be impossible to regain.

Without another word, Rosalie turned and placed soft, warm lips to his knuckles, quite content with his answer.

Raymond bent and nuzzled her delicate nose affectionately with his own, any anxiety he'd had sidelining her question soothed by the warmth and understanding in her eyes.

"We never finished our discussion about your suits." Rosalie reminded, giving him an avenue out of the conversation.

Red took it gratefully, "You're absolutely right. How forgetful we are."

The pair had gotten distracted amidst their teasing about criminal nicknames, which led to a very enlightening lovemaking session in which Rosalie learned Raymond quite liked her dominant side. They both looked amusedly at each other, the heated memory taking any remaining chill out of them.

The man set his book aside, settling into the task of satisfying their mutual curiosity. "Fire away, my dear."

Rosalie's expression lit with inquisitiveness, an arsenal of questions queueing up in her mind. "Why the suits?" She asked, leading with the most broad and pressing of her questions.

"Three reasons: practicality, perception, and preference."

The blonde's head tilted thoughtfully, "I'm sorry, how is a three-piece suit practical?"

"Easily," explained Red, "I need attire with several pockets, that's lightweight, and allows me to move. A good suit is incredibly comfortable when done right, and if you plan ahead, offer a necessary amount of practicality. I don't wear off the rack for this very reason. I have tailors on call all over the world to build these suits to my exact specifications. This isn't merely to suit my style, those fittings are where the built-in storage is planned out, any bespoke modifications are done on-site with my tailors. I've had everything from micro chain mail imbued waistcoats to poison-laced buttons."

Rosalie's eyebrows raised slightly, recalling the older gentleman who often showed up at the safe house in New York for Raymond's fittings. He was quite mild-mannered, it would be hard for anyone to believe he ran a side business specializing in poisonous suit buttons. She listened intently, however, the explanation touching on a point of curiosity for her which hadn't yet been sated. "All those layers, though, doesn't it make it more difficult for you to move, to stay cool?"

Raymond shook his head, "Like I said, not when it's done right. The layers are highly practical for regulating my body temperature. You and I have gone from the sweltering Moçâmedes to a snow-capped village outside of Zermatt in the span of a few short hours, having several layers makes me impervious to such movements."

Rosalie nodded her understanding. "Perception," she wondered aloud, "does your suit operate as a kind of status symbol?"

Red sing-songed his head, "Yes, in a way, the suit helps to confirm my standing in the criminal circles. As long as I appear to be wealthy and moving unrestrainedly, I am the kind of criminal society wants to do business with."

The woman found this notion reasonable, she herself had taken comfort in the man's attire when they first met. Rosalie recalled how the suit had somehow convinced her Raymond Reddington couldn't be a complete ne'er-do-well, as he had looked like the kind of criminal she would normally do business with. "It reinforces your reputation, the persona you bring into negotiations." She said slyly, catching on to the broader meaning behind 'perception'.

"Exactly." Agreed Raymond with a clever grin. "Each piece I don allows me to settle further into my role as the Raymond Reddington the criminal world knows and loves to hate. It's like armor, insulating me from the filth I submerge myself in every day. This compounds into a very specific physical presence which gets carried beyond every interaction I have. Before you know it, my reputation is preceding me, from the upper echelons to the lowly bottom feeders, and it has saved me a great deal of time, money, and hassle over these past few years. Loyalty is everything in our world, but reputation is a close second."

Rosalie understood his meaning, her own empire being built on this well-known premise. "Reputation, greater than any product or service, is the true stock and trade of a criminal." She agreed, catching Raymond off guard with her eloquence. "The criminal underworld doesn't exactly have a Better Business Bureau. Our work is nearly always perpetrated by word of mouth, especially for empires like mine, which work very hard to stay out of the limelight." She added, "When someone says they 'know a guy who knows a guy,' they're referring to people like me, and it is imperative I keep it that way."

Raymond grinned, "You've done quite well in that regard. There is so much mystery surrounding you and your operation, the criminal elite are flocking to your side in droves, certain you can disguise their movements as well as you hide your own. I have a feeling your attire, in a way, serves to add to your mystique."

Rosalie's brows furrowed, not sure if she agreed with the statement. She certainly didn't choose her wardrobe dependent upon mystery factor, or at least, she didn't think she did.

Red's eyes grew bright, the opportunity for them both to learn something about her, together, seeming to appear out of thin air. "Think of your most favored clothes." He supplied, holding her gaze with interest, "Whether you recognize it or not, you have definitive preferences."

Rosalie closed her eyes, mentally sifting through her entire wardrobe. "I also prefer layers." She began, looking to him for confirmation.

The man nodded, "You do, and you dislike summer for this very reason. You can't tolerate the amount and types of layers you normally prefer." His eyebrows flitted upward knowingly, waiting for her to recognize her own predilections.

A smile suddenly appeared on her lips, "I like a trench, on top of the jacket you gave me." She whispered, seeing the pattern for the first time.

"Pockets upon pockets and windproof to boot," Red chuckled, "And under that?"

"Cashmere, either a cardigan or sweater," Rosalie realized, thinking of the assorted colors of the garment she carried with her wherever she went.

Raymond nodded, stroking the warm softness of her dress. "This textile is your signature. I don't think you recognized your preference for it until now. Notice how you didn't even mention the plethora of lighter attire you've worn this summer? Whether you're in your standard uniform or winding down for the night, you prefer a touch of cashmere." Rosalie watched as the man's eyes grew slightly hooded, his tone dropping to a knowing murmur. "You dislike being places where it's hot because you don't have those layers protecting you the way you like. You have to settle for button downs and blouses, most often in silk. You like them but they also make you feel…exposed."

Those deep grey eyes blinked up at him, curiosity bright in their depths. "How did you know?" She asked, awed and yet slightly perturbed. The man had touched on the matter with such accuracy, it worried Rosalie. Was she really so easy to read?

"I spend every day with you, my dear." Raymond reassured her, "If I didn't notice these things, I would be concerned."

The woman still fidgeted, assimilating the fact that Stratos hadn't been embellishing when he spoke of Reddington. "He will learn you. Will know your every want, what it takes to win your heart, to earn your trust."

Raymond was learning her, and apparently had been doing so for quite some time. The thought warmed the young woman, assuring her the man before her carried no ill intent.

The man in question waited patiently for Rosalie to become comfortable with the information he had divulged. He was not abashed in the slightest for watching her so closely, for getting to know her every preference. Red was nothing if not thorough, especially when taking a lover. He wanted to know these things about her, he wanted to understand her, to be able to give her everything she needed, just as he knew she wanted those things from him.

Rosalie smiled fondly up at him, recognizing the specific desire held in his gaze. She had felt the same call from the earliest moments of their acquaintance.

They had finally reached the point where their curiosity was evenly matched, and Raymond was wasting no time in his pursuit of every facet of Rosalie.

The woman's nerves settled, a dark corner of herself opening to her lover before his very eyes. She chose her words carefully, outlining the pieces of her criminal persona as she saw them.

"My wardrobe is built upon practicality, perception, and preference." She quoted with a grin, "In different measures than yours, but similar principles all the same."

Rosalie nestled once again into his hold, resting her hand on his outstretched thigh and brushing her thumb back and forth. "Like you, I've found practicality in layers. Unlike you, my practicality, up until this point, has focused on stealth and versatility. You need the arsenal of pockets, the custom fits and materials, because your empire puts you in highly dangerous scenarios quite often. You need to be able to go into a fire fight at a moment's notice."

Raymond nodded his agreement, beckoning her to continue.

"Up until the past year or so, I had rarely ever been in the line of fire. I've worked from the hidden corners of our world, dealing quietly in the commodities of secrecy and anonymity. My attire needs to facilitate my ability to disappear, often with clients in tow. This means I can't strike anyone as odd or unforgettable whilst striking a deal or purchasing properties. For this reason, I've chosen a wardrobe with simple cuts and high end materials in classic styles. It's meant to blend into the environment around me, not giving off the impression of being from anywhere in particular. It also serves to blur my age. No criminal wants to put their welfare in the hands of another, much less a young woman. Dressing in a way which presents older has served me well, especially in my early years…"

Raymond listened intently, fascinated as Rosalie picked apart the reasoning behind her choices not only in attire, but in persona. She was forthcoming and open with him, trusting him at long last with this closely guarded corner of her criminal side. It was a huge step forward not only for her, but for their relationship.

Rosalie continued, the words flowing easily now the avenue was open to her. "I protect people. I give them access to my homes, places to hide in safety without feeling like they are in hiding." She sat up, to look Red in the eye, "This is the key difference between my network and any other. My homes don't feel like safehouses or blacksites. My clients don't feel imprisoned by the walls around them. Everything about me and my organization is built to support this impression."

Raymond beamed at her, immensely pleased by the awareness and cunning she showed. He led her further, "This is where perception comes into play."

"Yes," agreed Rosalie, easily taking up the new viewpoint. "I wear what is practical for me, but part of that practicality is what is suitable to my role. My attire must assist my needs and put my clients at ease." Every deal the woman had made flitted through her memory, creating a pattern of colors, materials, and styles she hadn't noticed until now.

"I've not made a single deal in a pair of pants!" She burst aloud, almost appalled at the realization.

Red let out a barking laugh, quite amused by the declaration. "Why do you suppose that is?"

Rosalie's brow furrowed and she stared thoughtfully at Raymond's tie before answering. "The overwhelming majority of my clients are men. More than eighty percent," she confided, "Skirts and dresses soothe the titans I work with, makes them more comfortable in dealing with me. It soothes the women, though, too, I become less of a competitor in their eyes. Regardless of the gender, my clients are less threatened by me when I'm in more traditionally feminine attire."

"Are you going on a crusade to land a big client whilst wearing pants?" Raymond teased, unable to help himself.

Rosalie giggled, shaking her head. "No, I actually prefer a skirt or a dress. For me, it's actually more comfortable and less restrictive. I'm just really quite surprised by the fact. The feminine style works wonders, though, with potential clients I'm courting or current ones with ruffled feathers."

The woman turned serious again as she discovered another truth. "The criminals I deal with are high on the food chain, and absolutely lethal if handled incorrectly."

Red's arms tightened ever so slightly. He had known this, of course, but the notion of her dealing with some of the more ruthless characters in their world made the man's whole body twitch involuntarily.

"I'm one woman," said Rosalie, "and before Horace, I was one woman without security. I found playing to my femininity an easy way to ensure I would have the upper hand in an altercation, because…" she trailed off, glancing up at Red.

"Because they would inherently underestimate you." He finished for her. "They would think you a small, fragile female, easily put into place. They wouldn't recognize the danger in you until it's far too late."

The woman nodded nervously.

"I made that very mistake in São Paulo." Raymond reminded, thinking of the altercation with the switchblades.

"You did, in a way." Agreed Rosalie, "I'm surprised, now, that you didn't see right through me."

"I knew something was off, I just couldn't pin the specifics, so I let the situation roll for a while." Red conceded, "I haven't been a criminal this long without being set back on my heels once in a while, that day being one of those times. I learned a valuable lesson, so did Dembe." He said this with a genuine smile, finding the tale rather amusing.

Rosalie felt the need to explain herself, "I didn't mean to pose a threat, it was just… You knew my name, and it scared the hell out of me. I desperately needed to gain an even footing in the exchange. I learned quickly in my work, warmth and vivacity are much better tools to keep me safe and help things move my way. More flies with honey than vinegar, you know?"

Raymond nodded, completely understanding her viewpoint. It would, of course, do no good for Rosalie's clients to suspect she could wield even half the lethal cunning she possessed. He had not been offended or put off by her tactics at their first meeting. Truthfully, the man had been damn intrigued and more than a little turned on by the swaggering criminal he had stumbled upon. Rosalie had mastered the perilous art of the femme fatale and utilized it to forge and empire.

The man's silence caused the nervousness in Rosalie to return full force. Her voice was rather timid when she next spoke.

"This is why I hesitated the other night, to let you see this side of me…" she whispered, "I don't ever want you to think…" She lost her nerve, the truth of what was worrying her rearing its ugly head.

Raymond pulled her close, holding her eyes in a dark, unrelenting gaze. "I do not, nor have I ever, thought you were using your feminine wiles to manipulate me." He stated emphatically, his soothing drawl carrying a low, gravelly note of displeasure.

"I know a femme fatale when I see one, Rosalie. I've seen an endless parade of those creatures in my life. You've mastered the art, there is no doubt in my mind, yet you are missing one truth that is absolutely paramount." His large hand reached to grasp Rosalie's chin so those grey orbs could do nothing but hold his own. "You can portray the hardened criminal, can walk easily in her shoes, but she does not become you. She is merely a mask you don to serve a purpose."

"You don't know that." Rosalie voiced her fear. How could he or anyone else she cared for tell the difference between the varied sides of what she had become?

Red understood now. She was afraid, afraid of never being known, of never being loved for herself, dark spots and all. His gaze softened with this understanding, his broad thumb moving to brush rhythmically along her cheek. "I can tell when you've stepped into her." He assured, "I can tell the moment you've donned the mask all of us criminals have to wear."

"The difference lies behind the eyes. A true femme fatale feels nothing, she can't exhibit the warmth and affection you radiate simply by being. Their eyes don't spark and dance with mirth, they don't darken like a sea in a storm when their passion is aroused. Their eyes are hollow, little dove, and you have never, ever looked at someone you loved like that.

"You can't know, you couldn't possibly-" she insisted, but Red cut her off.

"I can." He snarled, "The other day when you were going to deal with Lucas, I watched it happen before my very eyes." A roguish smirk tugged at his features, "Your shoulders straightened, your chin tilted upward, and you looked back at me with a devilish little wink…"

He cupped her cheek willing her to believe his words, "I saw the mask drop and yet you were there clear as day behind it. I've been able to see these many sides of you from the day we met, Rosalie, and I've only ever wanted to know them better."

Rosalie's dark eyes misted slightly, "You… you do?" She asked, unable to hide the hopefulness in her voice. She did not know why it mattered so much to her, but the idea of Raymond being able to see and understand this side of her, it was more than Rosalie had thought she could ask from a romantic partner. The woman wrapped her arms tightly around Red, burying her face in his neck.

Raymond could tell this meant a great deal to her, that it had been quietly weighing on her mind. He enveloped her little frame with his, holding her close and nuzzling her comfortingly, "I know you've had to cultivate these lonely corners of you, like every criminal who's ever lived, and you're wondering how anyone could ever love those dark parts of you. My dear, I'm telling you now, I positively adore your criminal side. The moment you dip into that deviant, the second those little ankles cross and rest against that damn headboard, I'm lost." He confessed, recalling in the days before they were dating, when Red would avoid walking past her bedroom, lest he be confronted by his weakness for the gorgeously inverted profile.

"These varied sides of you are comforting familiarity. Because of them, I can be with you without feeling as though I'm somehow leading you astray. They make me feel like you understand me, why I do… am what I am."

The pair recognized the deeper truth their conversation had unwittingly unearthed. They were both seeking understanding, to be well and truly known.

Words failed Rosalie at Red's confession. Her nerves quietened and an overwhelming feeling of stability enveloped her. She knew, now, there was no part of her she would hold back from this man.

They wanted, needed the same things, and were adamant on meeting those needs in each other.

A stifling passion crackled between them with the sudden intensity of a wildfire, coaxing Rosalie to crawl into her lover's lap, feverishly claiming his lips.

The man growled and pulled her snug to him, matching her intensity with ease. "This has been most enlightening, little dove." He purred, bunching the material of her dress upward to reveal her beautiful thighs, bisected as always by garter straps. "There's one last curiosity you haven't satisfied," he rasped, fingering one of the straps teasingly.

"Why these tantalizing, painfully arousing delicates?"

Rosalie mewled at his touch, rutting needily against the bulge in his trousers. "I genuinely like my lingerie," she uttered in that sultry little purr she reserved only for him. "It's a closely guarded preference of mine, it just so happens to reinforce that femininity factor we discussed." Her breath hitched as Red's lips trailed along her slender neck, "They're a practical preference, not unlike your fedoras."

Raymond was terribly amused by this, lifting his head from her nape. "The fedoras serve a purpose." He insisted, almost peevishly.

"You could wear any old hat, Raymond," she retorted, directing him pointedly back to his pastime, "instead, you wear very fine fedoras, a signature every bit as iconic as your suits, and I adore them. Just like those garter straps you so love to peruse and play with are iconic to my wardrobe."

"You said they were practical." He grunted, "What purpose could these little stockings possibly serve?"

"They keep my legs warm." Growled Rosalie, without missing a beat.

The pair chuckled merrily, unable to hold back their amusement as their exploring reached a fevered pitch.

"Let's head back inside." the woman all but demanded, squirming eagerly in his lap.

"There's no way in hell I can wait that long." Assured Raymond, sliding his roughened palms along her thighs and hips.

"I'm open to suggestions." Grinned Rosalie, her aroused intrigue quite obvious.

Raymond chuckled, "What happens if I pluck this bow?" He asked heatedly, twirling the cashmere tie of her dress around his finger in a lazy fashion.

"You'll get one hell of a view." Rosalie husked in his ear, "But I will expect you to make love to me, here and now."

"I accept those terms." Red growled, casually tugging at the bow. The impeccably soft material parted like the wrappings of a present before him, baring his beautiful lover from head to toe, only her stockings and delicates left to shield her from the elements.

Raymond issued a heated groan, his cock swelling with the view of her pert breasts tightening in the cool Norwegian air. That smattering of freckles he so adored speckled merrily up at him and her bra's lace cups did nothing to hide the taut, pink nipples straining against the nearly sheer fabric. The item's catch was blessedly in the front, allowing Red to unclasp the garment and release the perfect mounds to his ardent attention. His warm hands reached immediately to cup their heavy softness, circling the tight little buds with his thumbs and reveling in the woman's shivering gasps of pleasure.

Her small hands moved searchingly, desperate for skin on skin contact to no avail with her lover's suit perfectly intact.

Raymond pitched them both forward, laying Rosalie softly beneath him. His comforting warmth wrapped lovingly around her, keeping her nearly naked form sheltered against his.

Rosalie reached between them, undoing the man's belt as well as the button to his trousers.

"In my pocket," Red grunted, latching his mouth around a chilled pink nipple.

Rosalie whimpered, wriggling her hand into his pants pockets, finding a condom and tearing it open. Her soft hands gently sought him, pulling his aching shaft from the confines of his boxers. The appendage was hot and heavy in her grasp, garnering a desperate little mewl of longing from her as she stroked him, settling the condom into place.

Rosalie tilted her hips up in invitation, willing her lover to take her.

Red's eyes turned dark at the sight of her seeking him so openly. "That's it, little dove," he crooned, "Give me all of you."

His lover nodded, positively restless for his touch.

Raymond reached between them with deft fingers, pulling aside the soaked lace which covered her pussy.

She gasped when a whisper of cold air hit the intimate alcove, reminding her how very exposed she was. "Please, Raymond," she whispered, burrowing into his warm hold.

The man's hard length immediately sought out its favored sanctuary, parting the petal soft lips with his thick head.

The woman beneath him mewed, wrapping her toned legs about his waist and resting her heels at the base of his spine. His heavy cock nestled against her cervix as the man bottomed out, making her back bow in pleasure.

A thready gasp issued from them both as he slowly withdrew, only to thrust back into her in one long, delicious stroke.

"Oh, Raymond." Rosalie breathed in his ear, nibbling the man's neck as he seated himself once more in her slick depths.

There was no need for words as the ravenous pair sought their pleasure.

Raymond languidly roamed every inch of her naked frame, leaving a trail of goosebumps from her head to her toes. The sensation of her sodden lace panties occasionally brushing against his shaft made him moan raggedly.

Rosalie had only small portions of Red's bare skin available to her. As such, her efforts were focused on his neck, ears, and the firm cheeks of his backside. This suited her just fine as she kneaded the tight muscles rhythmically, urging her lover as far as possible into her tight heat.

Raymond snarled his approval, gripping the backs of the woman's thighs with rough palms and pressing them down into the blanket. With Rosalie's knees near her chest, his cock sank impossibly deep, giving his lover every last inch of him.

Both their mouths parted in a sensual 'o' of delight as Red's thick member was buried to the hilt within her.

The sensation of the man's hot hard length rocking a steady rhythm deep inside her core robbed Rosalie of speech as the angle stroked new sweet spots within her. "Oh, yes," she whimpered once she was able to utter a sound, "Right, right there."

Red felt her thighs give a little spasm, her orgasm bearing down on her.

The sensation of that lithe muscle twitching beneath his fingertips was absolutely sinful, enticing him to the edge with her.

"Come for me little dove, take us both there." Raymond husked against Rosalie's ear, pinning her quivering form safely beneath him as her body readily surrendered to his.

Their lovemaking mirrored the connection forged in the openness they shared… There would be times in which one of them would feel bare, naked and vulnerable, but they would trust the other to always be there to shelter them in the night.


	19. Kalsarikännit

Raymond woke to a pitch dark room, his senses on high alert. The complete lack of light set the man on edge, having already grown accustomed to the endless sunlight of the Norwegian safehouse. He turned with a scowl to find Rosalie nowhere in sight, arousing his suspicion further. Swinging his legs to the edge of the bed, Red marched to the wall of windows and flung the heavy curtains wide.

A dark and volatile swath of clouds covered the normally brilliant sky, blanketing the landscape in a cold and dreary haze. A light drizzle had begun to speckle the windows with droplets of water, the sound wonderfully soothing to the man's ears.

Across the safehouse, the soft lull of the stereo could finally be heard, mixing with the sound of pots and pans being shifted about in the kitchen.

Raymond relaxed, satisfied they weren't in any immediate danger. A grin flitted across his features as he looked out at the expanse of stormy sky. It had been quite some time since the man had been able to simply enjoy a quiet day lazing about with a lover.

He and the young innkeeper had returned from their picnic chilled to the bone some time ago. Rosalie had pulled him into a piping hot shower, thoroughly warming them both before settling into a cozy cuddling session in the massive bed. They had fallen into a deep sleep shortly after, as Red could recall pulling the woman against his side and laying his head on one of the comfortable pillows before everything went blank.

It had been a perfect way to spend the day, and frankly, the man wasn't ready for it to end. Thankfully, the rainy weather was the perfect excuse for them to once again spend the day curled up together.

His desired plans for the next several hours in mind, Raymond donned a fresh pair of sleep pants and went in search of Rosalie.

Upon opening the bedroom door, Red's senses were flooded by a most delightful scene.

The cool darkness of the bedroom dissipated into the warmth and cheeriness of the kitchen. An old Patti Labelle record crackled from the stereo, echoing an upbeat disco number as Raymond's eyes fell on the vision of his lover padding about the open space, a saucy little shimmy in her step.

A bright smile lit her features as she hovered over the stove, tending to the contents of a heavy cast iron dutch oven. The mouth-watering scent of sautéing beef, red wine, garlic and mushrooms hung deliciously in the air.

Rosalie's hair was in a riot of curls pinned into a French twist, a few tendrils falling to tickle her cheeks and neck.

Red was floored when he recognized his shirt was the only thing covering her curvaceous frame, a scant three buttons holding the garment on. The sleeves were rolled up, allowing her to work as she pieced together the heavenly smelling dish on the stove. The white color contrasted beautifully with her skin, and the thin dove grey stripes running the garment's length brought out the shine of liquid metal in her eyes as she turned, noticing his presence.

"Hi," Rosalie smiled, fidgeting a little as Raymond's gaze trekked ever so slowly up her frame, seeming to savor the view.

"I hope you don't mind," she mumbled, looking down at the shirt, "I really didn't want to get dressed."

Red let out a warm, sultry laugh as he stepped toward her, reaching out to cup her cheek. "I have seen you in several stunning dresses, my dear. A fair share of delectable skirts, and some truly lovely blouses. But…" He sighed, tracing featherlight fingertips along her collarbone. "My God, woman, how I've longed to see you just like this. Wild curls, riddled with love bites and naked save for one of my shirts. The picture is intoxicating."

Rosalie beamed up at him, her smile positively radiant. She had wondered if the man would be annoyed by her wearing the expensive garment in the kitchen, but it seemed he was nothing short of delighted by her thievery. To show her appreciation, the woman reached on her tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss to his lips.

Raymond deepened the contact, his hands dropping to Rosalie's hips, the sensation of those soft curves beneath the slightly stiff fabric was positively decadent.

The little woman was lifted to the nearby countertop, a soft squeal of surprise leaving her as she was deposited onto the cool marble.

"Is it cold, little dove?" Red teased, a smile playing at his mouth before he claimed her lips again.

Rosalie nodded, her legs wrapping about the man's torso, pulling him closer. Her hot little mouth opened to him, sucking eagerly on his tongue when he set to teasing her with it.

Raymond released a hungry moan, his hands traveling the feminine frame in no set pattern.

Rosalie mewed and nibbled his bottom lip, dragging her nails along his scalp.

Goosebumps rippled down Red's neck and shoulders at the action, a husky groan following unrestrainedly from his chest.

He loved the way this woman kissed him. She always did so with every inch of her body, captivating Raymond from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes.

He learned quickly how she liked to be wrapped around him, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and affection. It was a peculiarity he found quite endearing.

Red hadn't experienced such things with a lover before. There was so much more to her actions than simple lust.

The way she nuzzled him, a show of affection he was rather partial to, truth be told, filled him with a serenity which seemed to touch the very foundations of his soul. The way she trailed her fingertips leisurely over his skin or carded them through his hair always relaxed him by several degrees. The woman never simply went through the motions, there was no undercurrent of underhandedness which he had learned to expect from many women in the past.

Rosalie treated him like a lover. She caressed him, kissed him, cuddled him, simply because she wanted to. Because she cared for him.

The realization had Red pressing deeper into the woman's hold for want of more. His lips trailed along her cheeks and down her slender neck, pulling the sweetest little moans from her mouth.

They kissed deeply yet languidly, savoring the simple intimacy and all it implied.

"I can't get enough of this delicate little mouth." Raymond confessed, sucking greedily on Rosalie's bottom lip.

"Good," the woman sighed her delight, "I love it when you do that."

She felt the smile on the man's lips as he leaned forward, the kiss deepening still.

Red feasted on the blonde until they were both thoroughly ruffled and gasping for air. When they finally broke, their breath mingled in steady huffs, their arms still held each other close.

Raymond swallowed thickly, humming his contentment and relaxing into her embrace. "What mischief are you getting up to in here, little dove?"

Rosalie grinned, glancing toward the stove with a look of distinct giddiness. "I'm getting dinner started, we slept the whole day away."

"We did, did we?" Red's gaze flicked to the oven's display, seeing it was nearly six in the evening.

"I thought boeuf bourguignon, in honor of our sudden descent into autumn." The woman reasoned, nodding her head toward a shining Dutch oven on the stove.

"It smells incredible." Raymond complimented, taking a moment to lift the heavy lid from the pot and peer at the delicacy within. "I must say, it was odd waking to a dark room." He added, replacing the lid and turning his head toward the multitude of windows, the sky beyond still resolutely dark.

Rosalie's gaze followed his to the ominous looking landscape, "It's supposed to storm for a couple of days." She informed him, her tone positively buoyant.

"Is that so?" Purred Red, arms circling back around the woman.

"Mm-hmm…" She nodded, catching her plump bottom lip between her teeth. "We'll probably lose power…"

Raymond smiled, enchanted by her obvious excitement. "I suppose we'll have to find a way to…occupy ourselves." He supplied, palming her full hips in an obvious nod to what his rainy day plans were.

Those deep grey eyes blinked innocently up at him. "We'll have to share body heat, too," Rosalie murmured seriously, playing her part to a T. "The temperature is going to drop to the low forties tonight, and we might not have heat…"

Raymond cocked his head thoughtfully, tracing her mouth with his thumb. "But darling, there's a perfectly good fireplace right behind you." He reminded in a solicitous tone, making quite a show of guiding her gaze to the fixture in question. This left the delectable majority of her throat exposed.

"It's definitely broken." Rosalie remedied without missing a beat.

Red's deep chuckle tickled against her pulse point, making her erupt in goosebumps as a smile full of mischief pulled at her lips.

Truthfully, the man was enjoying the hell out of this playful interlude. It seemed his quick-witted minx was amenable to a little role-play. How very intriguing.

Raymond filed the bit of intel away for further research at a later date. More pressing needs were readily making themselves known.

"If there's a chance we'll lose power-"

"Probably, _definitely_ going to lose power." Corrected Rosalie with an innocuous glance toward the electrical box hidden in the cabinet behind Red.

The man roared with laughter, not entirely certain she wouldn't blow the breakers to get her desired results.

"Then we should shower while we still have hot water." He informed her with a nuzzle to the soft valley of her breasts, the top button of his shirt having mysteriously come undone.

"Oh," Rosalie sighed, catching onto his thought process. "Oh yes, we should to that right-" Her breath hitched when his warm, wet lips met her sternum, "... _right now_."

Twenty minutes later found the amorous pair encased in steam, a chorus of pleasured sounds echoing from the spacious glass shower.

Raymond had Rosalie backed against the wall, one of her knees hooked over his forearm while his ramrod erection sank endlessly into her welcoming heat. The woman's mouth was being plundered by his relentless tongue as she clutched his broad shoulders for support.

The long smooth strokes of Red's cock were driving her crazy as her entire body was supported by his thrusting frame. The toes of the leg not draped over his arm skimmed the tile floor uselessly wiggling their pleasure as the woman seemed to burn from the inside out.

"R-Raymond…_Please_."

A guttural moan left Red's lips as he felt her fight for release. "That's it. Come for me, little dove." He crooned, knowing by now how his deep voice in her ear could make the woman tip right over the edge. The man kept the drag of his shaft deep and steady into her shivering depths, feeling vital and alive as he led his lover toward ecstasy.

Rosalie shuddered, her climax drawing nearer. She palmed the back of Raymond's head, silently begging for his lips on hers.

Red kissed her without hesitation. His tongue slid hot and wet back into her mouth, sensually matching the strokes of his cock below.

A ferocious moan vibrated along the writhing muscle when Rosalie couldn't hold back any longer. Her scorching heat gripped his shaft in an unrelenting wave, trying desperately to keep him inside.

Raymond grunted his pleasure, thrusting into his lover without stopping. A well of hot cream engulfed his throbbing head as Rosalie whimpered, her hips rutting against his with abandon.

"So _good_…" She panted, breaking the kiss, her body quaking as Red rode straight through her climax.

The man eased his movements when her sex finally slowed its convulsing. He gently shifted the woman to the floor, rotating them gently so he could take her from behind.

Rosalie shivered, her knees weak.

"Come here, Rosalie." Raymond guided, desperate to be back inside her. He rested his back against the shower wall, pulling her toward him.

Rosalie leaned back into the comfort of his firm chest as Red hooked her knee once again, lifting her slender frame into his firm hold.

Their eyes were lust-blown and hooded as the man's rigid length was aligned once again with its favored playmate.

The little hole was still pulsating as Raymond slid inside in one swift thrust.

Rosalie cried out at the new angle. "_Fuck_!" she swallowed, her body already winding tight in response to the welcomed intrusion.

Red smirked for the rare vulgarity which passed her lips. His mouth dropped to nibble her neck while the other moved to circle her clit with determined fingers.

Rosalie let out a feminine cry at the overstimulation, her thighs squeezing involuntarily, helplessly spread by Red's strong grasp.

"Honey, do you have any idea what that sound does to me?" He moaned with fervor, thrusting tirelessly into her receptive body.

"It makes you fuck me harder?" Rosalie pleaded, her voice ragged and her walls twitching around the straining organ within her.

"God it feels good when you squeeze me like that." Raymond gasped, his balls tightening at the sensation. "I think you like this new position as much as I do."

Rosalie nodded fervidly, rocking to meet his powerful strokes, "Yes…_oh, yes_." She gasped, her body bowing of its own accord.

She was so very close, Raymond hissed his frustration at his current predicament. The position they were in was spectacular for stroking the woman's g spot and every other sensitive corner of her, but it didn't allow Red to watch his lover in all her rapturous glory, a sight of which he was growing terribly fond.

A wonderful spark of ingenuity hit him full force as he sought to garner the view he prized. With a grin for his own cleverness, Red leaned forward and opened the shower's heavy glass door.

Steam poured from the stall, allowing the pair an exciting show from where they stood.

"_Look up, Rosalie_." Raymond purred in his impossibly low baritone, barely able to keep his desire in check.

Two sets of eyes, both more pupil than iris, met in the mirror across the room. The bathroom was large, so the object's surface was not yet fogged over. In its reflection, the pair stared in open awe as they watched every last inch of Raymond's glistening shaft filling Rosalie's eager sex.

The young woman couldn't tear her gaze from the display, slender fingers slipping between her legs to feel the man's girth parting her folds. "Oh...oh my God." She gasped, the sensation of his thick, heavy cock sliding between her outstretched fingers combining with the raw visual stimuli to make her quiver from head to toe.

"It's incredible, isn't it?" Red murmured his amazement, "The way your tight little pussy opens for me, accepts me right to the hilt. It's like you were made for me." Raymond's eyes were glued to her drenched quim being repeatedly impaled on his rigid length. He couldn't get over the vision of her folds parting for him, greedily taking every inch he could provide.

What truly made the man's mouth drop open in broken reverence was the way he could actually see her body grip him. The lips of her sex held tight to his slick shaft with each thrust, following his retreat and trying like hell to hold him inside. A carnal moan tumbled through his chest, the sight holding him in a lust-fueled trance.

"I love when you moan like that." Rosalie mewed, her nerve endings screaming their desire as she pushed back into her lover's delectable frame.

Raymond's chest hair scratched tantalizingly against her back and shoulders. The curls leading down to his groin teased the sensitive skin of her bottom every time he moved, driving the woman absolutely wild.

Dark grey eyes looked up to their wicked reflections, enchanted once again by the vision of their lovemaking. "Raymond," she cooed, reaching to grasp the back of the man's neck.

Red nuzzled her cheek, his eyes fluttering shut as overwhelming pleasure enveloped them both.

Rosalie could feel his enticing mouth agape, ragged huffs of air ghosting along her jaw as her lover sought completion. It was such a thrilling sensation, and knowing she was the woman instilling such need in him made her heart swell with delight. "I want you to come for me, just like this, just for me." She whispered in a sultry purr, reaching down to caress his heavy sack with each thrust.

Red's voice cracked with a delirious rasp, his body giving a violent spasm at the woman's initiative. The soft fingertips rolled his balls superlatively, while those grey eyes, nearly black with lust, made the man's knees buckle momentarily.

"Oh, I'm going to come." He assured her, tightening his grip and moving against her for all he was worth. His eyes refused to leave hers, "I'm going to come _deep_ inside your perfect little pussy."

The statement shook Rosalie to her very core, a mental image of Raymond's thick cock, perfectly bare, sliding heavily between her thighs, forced its way unbidden into her mind. The thought was so painfully exciting, it brought the young woman forcefully toward her own peak.

"I can _feel_ you." Husked Red in a knowing whisper, "I can feel your body giving into me, little dove. You're starting to buck and twitch."

The sinful comment combined with his hot breath against Rosalie's ear to make her entire frame buckle. She was so close she could scream.

Masculine hands held her in a bruising grip while Rosalie rocked steadily back into her lover, feeling his hard head spreading her over and over. The steady force of the thick crown against her g spot made her ache, a white-hot tension settling in her belly. "Shit!…" she hissed, feeling the coil within her tighten sharply.

One of her hands gripped the back of Raymond's neck, the other clung to his back, her fingernails scraping along his gooseflesh covered skin. The woman's head fell back against his shoulder, her mouth open and panting in desperate shudders.

Red's arm dropped to pet the hood of her sex with a firm hand, knowing precisely what would end her agony. An animalistic snarl filled the room, his powerful frame ravaging her more insistently.

"Oh…_oh_!…" she cried out, every inch of her a trembling wreck as her body relented to his coaxing. Her snug heat gripped the man's driving shaft like a vice, demanding he summit this peak with her.

The pair watched the incredible scene unfold before their very eyes in the mirror. Two of Raymond's thick digits danced over Rosalie's clit as his other hand held aloft her right thigh, ensuring she could do nothing but shatter in his arms, her body completely open to him.

"Shit…_Yes_…just like that." Red moaned, feeling the rush of warmth and wetness engulf his cock head once again. "Don't stop, little dove. I'm right there." He begged, tonguing the hollow of Rosalie's nape until a string of fevered cries cascaded from her throat. The sound spurred Raymond on, his strokes lengthening and his hands restlessly roaming every available inch of his lover until her clenching heat took him into utter bliss.

"God, _damn_…" he gasped, feeling his balls spasm forcefully. "Rosalie, I'm…_there_, right…there!" He snarled, white lights popping in his vision.

"_Fuck_, I'm coming!"

Rosalie could feel his thick shaft throbbing in her entrance as Raymond spilled himself deep within her soaking depths. The pulsing sensation and the warmth of his release filling the condom made her shiver with its intensity. The man's rasping breaths and ragged moans shimmered erotically along her nerve endings, coaxing a tremulous sigh from Rosalie's lips.

Red pulled her more tightly to him, easing his thrusts with each pulse of his member as the last drops of his orgasm were emptied into the condom. "_Rosalie_." He husked, knees buckling with relief.

The few remaining tremors of the woman's pleasure fluttered along his length, pulling a feeble grunt from them both.

Raymond slowly lowered his lover, easing her feet to the floor and ensuring they were firmly planted before allowing her to stand on her own. His shaft slid free from its warm home, heavy and thoroughly satisfied, the full condom clinging resolutely to the turgid appendage. The man couldn't help but wonder, if their lovemaking was already this incredibly satisfying, what would it be like to make love to this woman with nothing between them?

The very thought made his sated cock pulse with a delicious ache.

His thoughts were interrupted when an exhausted little blonde burrowed sleepily into his chest. Raymond instinctively gathered her in his arms, kissing the top of her head and stroking her back with gentle touches. The sweet fragrance of sex hung heavy in the steamy enclosure, a deeply comforting scent now their ravenous need had been appeased.

Rosalie ran her fingertips gently along Red's chest and arms, soothing the man's racing pulse by degrees.

Red reached to shut off the pulsing shower heads, smirking when the woman in his arms grumbled, tugging his hand back around her once the spray had stopped.

They stood there several long moments, simply holding and caressing each other. The rain outside had picked up to an absolute downpour, pelting the tall arched windows of the bath with fat, heavy raindrops. The sound was delightful, calming the exhausted pair further.

With a small shift of her torso, Rosalie reached down to grasp Red's shaft, thrilling in the husky growl which left his lips. Her dark eyes held his steadily as she slid her grip down his length, freeing him from the spent latex.

"_Christ_, woman" he groaned, the sensation overwhelming his hyper-sensitive flesh, causing him to buck against her firm hold.

Her nose gently nuzzled his chest, allaying the tremor her touch had caused, before her warmth left him entirely. The woman walked daintily across the tiled floor, bending to toss the spent prophylactic into the bin beside the shower door.

There was something uniquely provocative about the act.

The tight, curvaceous globes of her backside, the right of which still sported a prominent love bite, commanded Raymond's full and undivided attention as she tilted forward. He internally admonished his insolent hands, which instinctively reached for her, one twitching with the need to spank one of those rounded little cheeks.

Rosalie caught his arm's movement in her peripheral vision. "I like when you touch me, Raymond. You needn't wait for my permission." She insisted, arching her luscious derrière to meet his outstretched palm.

Red's fingertips curled into the supple mound without a moment's hesitation. It took a great deal of effort, however, to keep the rest of his rampant body in check. The act of the woman guiding his hand to his desired pastime, quite literally telling him she wanted him to touch her, caress her, fondle her to his heart's content… It did things to the man he couldn't yet put into words.

Rosalie's eyebrows waggled impishly, taking entirely too much enjoyment in slowly bringing herself upright against him, ensuring he felt every inch of her body against his.

"We aren't in danger of running out of those things, are we?" Raymond rumbled with a dark nod towards the bin, thinking it highly unlikely the woman would make it up the stairs without being accosted by him in some way.

"No, thankfully, we are quite well stocked in that arena." She sighed, "And even if we did… We're covered."

The comment caught Red completely off guard, causing him to balk after her.

The feminine frame stepped out of the stall as though nothing were amiss, taking her fluffy towel from the nearby hook and drying herself off. A playful wink was thrown Raymond's way before Rosalie sauntered up the stairs, carefree and naked as a dream.

So many questions swirled in the man's mind it made his head spin. First and foremost, he very much wanted to know what, exactly, was Rosalie's definition of 'covered'?

Raymond and Rosalie enjoyed a delightful meal of boeuf bourguignon in the cozy kitchen, swapping stories as was there custom. A loud crack of thunder had just shook the windows in the tower when they settled on the sofa in the living area, one of Red's favorite stories coming to mind.

"There's a delightful tradition I once engaged in with a group of Finns during a nasty winter in '94." He began, settling into the plush sofa with a glass of wine and a warm woman tucked against his side. "I had been smuggling an assortment of contraband across the Gulf of Finland from Sillamäe and Kurgolovo. Little things like nickel, aluminum, the occasional shipment of crude oil, you know. We had just delivered a shipment I'd acquired from a notorious purveyor of Matryoshka dolls. Only, these ones just so happened to be filled with the stolen jewels of a Russian patriarch..." Red glanced down at his lover, pleased to see her deep grey eyes alight with curiosity, burrowed against his torso and blinking interestedly up at him.

"As I was saying," he continued, warming to the tale, "We reached Kotka and this beast of a winter storm rolls in as we're drinking at the local watering hole. My compatriots and I made it back to the rickety old cabin where we were staying with just enough time to spare. The sky turned black just like this, and as the temperature dropped, the pouring rain turned to a tumultuous blizzard. Couldn't see your hand in front of your face, let alone what was two feet in front of the car."

Red grinned, recalling the punchline of his story quite fondly. "We made it inside, nothing in the fridge but a can of sardines, a cold ham, and two handles of Stolichnaya. Before I knew what was happening, I was surrounded by half a dozen drunk Finns in naught but their underwear. I remember thinking to myself, my God, here's a scenario I never thought I'd be in."

Rosalie burst into laughter, eyes dancing gaily, unable to hide her amusement at his expense.

"Now, I know what you're thinking," Raymond carried on, perfectly in his element, "When one thinks of being trapped in a cabin in one's underwear, one does tend to hope for a half dozen ravishing blondes rather than a band of boisterous, belching men. However, such was not my lot in life until very, very recently." He hazarded a glance toward his romantic interest, who barely contained a derisive snort of laughter.

"Where the hell are these five other blondes you're hiding away?" Rosalie questioned, leveling him a narrow yet playful gaze.

"Oh, I had to get rid of them." Red nodded sagely, "Turns out the original blonde is a mite possessive, sharing men is apparently not in her nature. Plus, and this stays between you and I, mind." He prodded her delicate nose with a firm finger, "She has been ravishing me ragged. I can barely stand let alone go chasing after any other fair-haired maidens."

Rosalie grinned at this, terribly, awfully amused by the whole thing. "I'm possessive?" She questioned impishly, holding his shirt slightly out from her body, for she had donned another shortly after their shower. The generous gap in the fabric provided a lovely view of her naked torso, a few deep red bites standing out against her pristine skin.

Raymond beamed fondly at his handiwork, then went right back into his story as though nothing had transpired. "Anyway, as it turns out, these scantily clad fellows weren't intending on making sweet, sweet love to me," He bemoaned, undaunted by Rosalie's hysterical laughter. "It was, apparently, some well-known Finnish tradition. They just got drunk in their underwear and swapped stories for hours until the storm passed."

"Kalsarikännit." Rosalie quipped, recognizing the tradition he was referring to.

"Gesundheit." snorted Red.

Rosalie wrinkled her nose at the corny joke. "_Kalsarikännit_, it's the Finnish tradition of getting drunk in one's underwear with no intention of going out."

Raymond's eyes lifted toward the heavens, "Jesus, they have a word for everything, those Finns. Them and the Germans. There should be a book with all the fun phrases in it."

The man could feel Rosalie tittering with amusement beside him, drawing his eyes to her flushed and radiant face.

"We should do it." She suggested in a tone of deep-seated excitement.

"Do…what?" Red asked, mentally chastising his a particular part of his anatomy for readily assuming what 'it' meant.

"Kalsarikännit," she said, as though it were obvious, "We are going to be stuck inside for the next few days, why not? We can lounge around, listen to music," Her lashes batted coyly up at him, "among other things…and when that gets old, I can thoroughly destroy you in a game of Monopoly."

"It's going to be one hell of a long wait for that board game." Raymond insisted, curious and damn amused. "You want to get drunk in your underwear with me, then?"

She nodded, a wily smile gracing the woman's features as she moved to kneel beside him.

"Yeah, I do. _So drop 'em, Reddington._"

Red roared with laughter, the rascally quip so completely unexpected, it tickled him to no end. His chortling set the little blonde to giggling, the room filling with the sound of their amusement.

Raymond's humor turned to heated intrigue as he watched Rosalie divest herself of his shirt. Button by button, the swell of her breasts was revealed to him, followed by her sternum, her ribcage, her belly button. His mouth followed the descent of her hands, leaving his lips parted in anticipation when the last button fell, giving him a peak of the soft curls between her thighs.

It wasn't as though he hadn't seen the luscious little mound a short while ago, but the man found each time more exciting than the last.

"I'm underdressed…" Rosalie mused, peering thoughtfully down at her pert breasts. The soft peaks tightened beneath the man's stare, the nipples rising excitedly at his attention.

"You're perfect." He championed, quite content with her attire.

"Nope," Rosalie shook her head, standing up and completely discarding his shirt.

Raymond watched avidly while the garment slid like water down her slender arms and she stood before him completely content in her nudity.

"The tradition is underwear, I'm not going to be the one going commando." Rosalie made it halfway to the bedroom before turning back to Red, " I think I'm going to need a _hand_…" She called innocently.

Beaming for his lot in life, Raymond wasted no time in following his worldly little globetrotter into the bedroom.

"Am I to be in my boxers, or do sleep pants count?" Questioned Red, uncertain of the exact parameters of her shenanigans.

Rosalie turned to see him perfectly in the buff, his manhood proudly on display as he held aloft both options.

The sight made her mouth water.

Raymond Reddington was quite handsome to begin with, but seeing him completely nude was a sight of which Rosalie was certain she would never tire. He always gave off an air of distinct virility and sexuality which made Rosalie squirm with desire. His skin held a healthy hue, dusted with soft blonde hair which she knew from experience felt lovely against her skin.

She especially adored the man's broad frame, much preferring his slightly softer build over muscled men like Horace and Baz, whom she often referred to as cumulonimbus clouds. Raymond's stature was masculine, robust, and all-encompassing, while still feeling safe and inviting. She would never tell anyone, lest he lose his street cred, but Raymond Reddingtonm, on top of being quite cute and affectionate, was a wonderful and eager cuddler.

Rosalie couldn't tear her gaze from the man's body, her dark eyes dropping significantly to the thick appendage between his legs. This part of him, she admitted, had become a fast favorite. As far as she was concerned, he was just right in every way. His girth was more than enough to satisfy, combined with his perfect length and thick, hard crown which spread her willing body just so… A shiver traversed her spine at the very thought, the endless accolades she could attribute the man's penis lining up readily in the back of her mind.

"Careful, little dove," Red warned, his tongue prodding his cheek, "Looking at me like that will be considered an open invitation to bend you over the nearest piece of furniture and fuck you ragged."

The roguish threat made Rosalie's mouth drop open in gobsmacked interest, her thighs squeezing together in an attempt to stem the rush of arousal which pooled in her belly.

Raymond caught the movement, quirking his eyebrows flirtatiously before turning to put his sleep pants back in the drawers.

Rosalie turned once she shook herself from her trance, only to stop mid-movement. Something caught her eye, causing her to reverse toward Raymond.

Upon looking at his back, her hand flew up to her mouth in shock.

There, in bright red lines traversing the man's frame, were several long, tender-looking scratches.

"I _scratched_ you!" Rosalie balked, striding quickly across the room and placing gentle hands to her lover's shoulders. The dimpled and scarred flesh was bisected this way and that by the little red stripes which Rosalie could easily line up with her own fingertips.

Raymond chuckled lewdly, "_Oh yes you did._" He murmured with a tone of distinct pride, seeming to be quite thrilled with the fruits of his labor.

Rosalie, on the other hand, was feeling an overwhelming deluge of remorse. "Raymond," she whispered, seeing the exact spot where she had clutched him in the shower, "I'm so sorry, why didn't you tell me I was hurting you?" She felt awful for her complete loss of control. "I've got a first aid kit in the hall closet." She fretted, moving to fetch the item.

A very amused fugitive waylaid her intent easily, keeping her within his reach. "I didn't say you were hurting me because you weren't hurting me." He insisted, tugging her into his embrace. "I thoroughly enjoyed every last second of it."

The woman's brows raised in question, not sure if she believed him.

Red lifted her onto the dresser and turned slightly so she could examine his 'battle scars ' as much as she wished. "Marks like these do not bother me in the slightest." He assured, "To me, they are no different than the cacophony of love bites I've left on you."

"Why?" Asked Rosalie, leaning to place petal soft lips to the expanse of his shoulders, her loving mouth whispering its apologies for her wayward fingers.

Raymond grinned softly, the action quite endearing in his mind. "Because you only scratch me when you're wild with pleasure." He purred in a tone bordering on indecent. "Those last agonizing seconds before your body lets go... It's so erotic, Rosalie, to have you out of your mind, clawing at me for want of more, knowing I'm the one who brought you to such a wanton state. You couldn't have stopped if you tried and that's the last thing I'd wanted you to do."

Rosalie's cheeks flushed scarlet, the explanation thoroughly turning her on. "Are you sure?" She questioned, needing confirmation in this instance, "It looks painful."

A sigh of amused exasperation left Red's lips, and he turned to face his counterpart. "I'm telling you I liked it, and I plan on making you do it again…" He kissed her cheek, "and again…" he kissed her earlobe "and again." His mouth worked its way down her rapidly heating frame, the stubble of the day's growth scratching sensually against her sensitive skin. His teeth nipped along the subtle curve where her neck and shoulders met, sending tiny shivers of delight through her limbs.

Red's tormenting melted the woman before him, any argument she had turning to vapor when confronted with his unshakable certainty.

"Allow me to demonstrate." He offered, taking her from the dresser and leading her back toward the bed.

Reaching the large four poster, Red effortlessly lifted the blonde, tossing her playfully onto the plush surface.

"On your knees." He rumbled, cocking his head in that inimitable way of his.

The command held a heady implication, making Rosalie hesitate ever so slightly, glancing doe-eyed at Raymond before turning obediently to her hands and knees before him.

Red would have given half his empire to know what, exactly, had been flitting through her mind in that moment of hesitation. Was she nervous? Or, perhaps, there was another fantasy running about unchecked? Had he struck a particularly arousing chord?

The man was damn well determined to find out.

The female frame knelt before him in all its glory demanded Raymond halt for but a moment and simply appreciate the beauty afforded him. Did Rosalie have any idea how utterly thrilling she was? The sumptuous curve of her waist dipping inward from her chest, surging outward to meet her hips was enough to drive the man to distraction. Her luscious, tight backside, tapering off into the most enticing pair of legs he'd ever had wrapped around him. Her sensuality reminded him of Goya's Nude Maja, the subject of which sported a very similar figure and a likewise unabashed sexuality the man never found to be anything less than beguiling.

His hand dropped to the silky wetness of her mons, fingertips ghosting in maddening circles over her sensitive lips and clit. He brushed her with just enough pressure to tease and torment, making Rosalie wiggle and writhe before him. "Such a needy little thing you are." He crooned, completely approving of her wanton movements. "So wet for me, so ready for whatever teasing I have in store."

The rose-hued treasure between her thighs quivered visibly under his intense gaze. A drop of warm, wet arousal trickled from her opening, carving a glistening path along her sex. The delicate lips parted like a flower in bloom before his eyes.

The sight stole the breath from Red's lungs, a white-hot insatiable thirst welling in the back of his throat and searing its way down into his chest.

She looked utterly delectable, bent double and spread wide for his viewing pleasure, open to his every whim.

The lone droplet of clear excitement had followed gravity's dictates, trailing the length of her pretty little slit to cling sinfully to the peak of her sex.

There were no words to communicate how badly the man wished to swipe his burning tongue over her pearly clit. Raymond was certain there was nothing in this world he desired more in that moment than to take the little bud into his mouth and tongue its delicate surface until Rosalie came with back breaking force.

The mental image coaxed Red to place a gentle hand between the woman's shoulder blades, angling her torso downward, presenting her peachy backside to his ardent attention.

"_So beautiful_," he whispered, smoothing his palms over her firm cheeks.

Rosalie fidgeted, confused as to what he was doing, why he had suddenly grown deafeningly silent. "Ray-" She began, only to be interrupted by his hands gripping her hips roughly.

"Don't you move, little dove," he growled in a heated, volatile voice. "Not one inch."

The deep rumbling command vibrated in close proximity to the woman's exposed sex, setting her to quivering. The tiny drop of arousal to which Raymond's gaze was so firmly affixed swelled with her heightened excitement, clinging precariously to her sensitive clit.

The warm hands spread the woman just a little more for him, putting her in the perfect position for his needs.

Rosalie's breath came in tremulous shudders, now fully aware of what he intended to do with her. She gasped aloud when she felt his hot breath on her lower lips. "_Oh_…" she gasped, mentally begging him to follow the path his mind had wandered.

Red smiled a clever, serene smile. He had waited so patiently, biding his time for the moment he could taste her. From the very first time he saw her, legs crossed and tied to a chair in São Paulo, the fiery hellcat within her momentarily subdued, her tongue dancing to the lethal rhythm of their negotiations.

_Oh_, how he had wanted her, even then.

In the futile, fervid world of dreams, his mind had secretly wandered to this beautiful creature. Day and night he had assuaged his desire, imagining her aching for him, down to the very last detail. In the most intimate ways imaginable, he had wanted her, and now she was there with him, open and willing to his every touch. Raymond could smell the soft scent of her bath products on her skin, mixing with the natural aroma of warm arousal, combining further with a succulent scent which was all Rosalie.

Unable to withhold himself a moment longer, Red's hot, wet tongue lapped hungrily out at that little drop of ecstasy.

The sound torn from Rosalie's lips at the contact was enough to drop the man to his knees. The shameless, wanton cry echoed in the tall room, holding notes of surprise and unparalleled pleasure.

From his lower elevation, Raymond could eagerly tease every last inch of his lover, wasting no time in tonguing hard and fast into her fluttering depths.

She was so sweet, so wonderfully wet, her velvety softness felt so damn good in his mouth.

His tongue flicked insistently circling the sensitive bud, kindling her pleasure to a fiery inferno.

Rosalie bucked and quaked under his assault, a litany of broken moans clawing their way out of her. His mouth felt incredible, the slippery, writhing tongue pairing sinfully with the delicious scratch of his 5 o'clock shadow against her most sensitive flesh. Raymond's diligent care robbed her of speech, her body melted into a trembling, submissive wreck. All the woman wanted in the moment was to rut against Red's talented tongue and scream her pleasure.

When she finally found her voice again, a throaty whine fell from her lips. "Please, please don't stop."

Raymond could tell Rosalie hadn't been loved properly, thoroughly, in this way by past lovers. The tone of surprise in her voice when he had delved into her shivering heat had told him as much. Her desperate plea for him not to stop plucked at a nerve within the man, making Red wonder if some oblivious cad had ever stopped while this gorgeous siren was lost in the throes of passion.

"Have you ever come from a man's mouth like this, Rosalie?" He questioned in his sultry baritone, sending a barrage of vibrations into her center. Red couldn't help the question, he simply had to know. He was rewarded with a veritable river of sweet, needy pleasure trickling from her quim.

"N-no." She admitted, a vibrant blush flooding her entire frame. She'd had lovers in the past. Rosalie had, of course, experienced oral sex, but only as a moment of foreplay before the main event. She had never experienced anything quite like this.

"I'm going to amend that travesty." Red assured, absolutely certain of the fact. The possessive corner of Raymond's soul roared into life, inordinately pleased to be the first to ever pull this particular brand of pleasure from her. The men she had been with were absolute fools not to worship the wonderland residing at the apex of her thighs. There was something deliciously carnal about satisfying a woman's most intimate needs. Truthfully, Red went wild for it. He was addicted to the emotions evoked by such pursuits. He reveled in his ability to make this formidable woman come undone, to coax those raw, unfettered sounds from her throat in a way no other man had before.

"Oh, _fuck_...me!" Rosalie gasped, her hips rocking feverishly to meet his wicked tongue.

The man smiled around the delicate clit he had captured between his lips, thrilled to feel the woman losing herself to her body's demands. The tell-tale tremble of her thighs alerted him she was getting close. He sure as hell wasn't stopping now.

Given his way, Red was going to stay firmly ensconced between those quaking limbs until she was a sated wreck, and even then, he might not want to move from his sensual pastime.

The idea of continuing his teasing long past the woman's peak aroused the man immensely. He would relentlessly suckle her clit, he would tongue the cushioned depths of her pussy till she had no hope but to give in, and she would come for him endlessly. Raymond could envision the woman above him squirming and panting as she was held captive by his ravenous mouth. He would overstimulate her little bundle of nerves until she screamed out another orgasm, then another, and perhaps one more after that, giving him every last drop of nectar between her silky thighs. He would inundate her with the pleasure she had been denied.

The thought was enough to make the man truly growl, an animalistic sound causing Rosalie to mewl as the menacing vibration rumbled from his body to hers. "_Raymond_," she whimpered, the sensation nearly too much to bear.

"So sweet," he hissed, allowing his rich, silky voice to wash over her. "You taste divine, little dove."

The man wasn't pandering. Every woman was different, and he'd had some exciting adventures in the world of cunnilingus before now, but Red had never encountered a woman who tasted quite like this. Rosalie was his favorite wildflower honey, sweet with the luscious tang of exotic fruit. He swore if he focused he could taste the floral notes of the gin she so prized. She was utterly intoxicating, leaving Raymond's tongue lapping insatiably at her quivering quim, drawing more and more of that which was uniquely Rosalie into his waiting mouth.

Rosalie buckled in response to the compliment, her rigid body winding even tighter at his coaxing. She had never been told something so very intimate before. "_M-more_." She pleaded, her pelvis unashamedly rocking back into the stimulation.

"Tell me what you need, honey, and I'll give it to you." He swore, flattening his tongue into long, broad strokes.

"I-oh _God_ _Raymond_," The woman whimpered her involvement, keening against the more insistent touch. She knew she needed something, but didn't have enough experience in this arena to be able to voice what it was.

"I love that noise, but it's not the one I'm looking for." Red hummed, perfectly unperturbed as he changed his approach. His warm, rough hands slid forward, tweaking the woman's tightly pebbled nipples.

Rosalie squeaked in approval, jolts of gratification crackling along her nerve endings. "That," she sighed blissfully.

"_Almost_," grunted Raymond, continuing his ministrations with one hand while the other wrapped about Rosalie's torso. His muscled arm kept her pinned right where he needed her before he took her aching clit into his mouth again.

The woman's breath halted for a split second before a howl of pleasure ripped through her, sending Red into a frenzy of licentious desire. He sucked hard at the quivering bud, thrashing his scorching tongue rapidly over it.

"_Oh shit_, right there. _Raymond_!"

The sensation was intense, tingling and white-hot as it took Rosalie forcefully over the edge. Her hands fisted the sheets, her sex clenched violently, and she cried out as Red continued his wonderful assault. Her hips rolled and bucked, the desperate tremors of release wracking her small frame.

Raymond moaned, maintaining his steady rhythm along her convulsing sex. A rush of sweet, orgasmic euphoria coated his tongue and lips, the tight tunnel he was plundering fluttered helplessly, trying in desperation to grip his writhing tongue and pull him deep. The sensation drove Red up the walls, a carnal groan seeming to issue from the man's very foundations.

Rosalie's knees quaked from the sound buzzing through her, barely able to hold her body upright from the sheer force of her pleasure.

"I want _more_." Red rasped, his tone brooking no argument. He released the woman from his teasing long enough to shift her toward the head of the bed, coaxing her to her back so Raymond could see the results of his efforts.

Rosalie glowed, radiant and wild with rapture. Her breasts heaved her need for oxygen and her body shook deliciously, each tremor speaking to the possessive corner of Raymond's soul. Those dark grey eyes were blown wide with passion, watching him dazedly as he moved up the bed with her. "Please, Raymond" She implored, reaching out to pull him close.

Red leaned forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss which left them both burning.

Rosalie let out a husky whine, tasting herself on his agile tongue. The soft scent of sex lingered on his skin, mixing with his aftershave. It was an electrifying aphrodisiac, leaving her squirming with need.

Red's mouth traveled back down the woman's curves, leaving a trail of kisses and beard burn in his wake.

Strong hands spread Rosalie's legs wide once again, the man's broad shoulders settled once again between her thighs, one arm wrapping about her hip to fondle her breasts.

Rosalie watched in open-mouthed awe as Raymond nuzzled the soft curls of her mons adoringly before that wicked tongue of his darted out, hot, pink, and wet, to lap between her lips. The sight was ribald, completely and utterly obscene in its raw sexuality.

Green eyes glinted darkly up at the woman, watching in undisguised lust as he caressed her quivering thighs, settling into his pastime.

Fifteen minutes later, the only parts of Rosalie still touching the bed were the back of her head, her ass, and the tips of her toes. The rest of her feminine frame was bowed in broken ecstasy as Raymond's tongue danced over her without mercy. Rosalie whimpered, her hips rutting greedily against the stimulation. The woman fisted the plush bedding surrounding her, needing something, anything to grip as her lover pulled the most wanton sounds she had ever heard from her own lips.

A lone hand reached, nearly grasping the man's head in desire. Thankfully, Rosalie caught herself before she made contact, balling the little appendage into a fist and forcing it back to her side with some effort. She opened hooded eyes to see Raymond watching her intently, a wildfire lurking behind his dark orbs.

He reached forward, grasping her hand and placing it to his pate the way she so often did, silently giving her permission to do so.

A little growl fell from her lips as her fingers threaded through his short locks, her natural inclination taking over, nails swirling along his scalp to his neck, creating a deluge of goosebumps down the man's stocky frame.

The sensation made him moan against her sodden mound, impossibly wet from her arousal and his saliva. He loved how she couldn't hold herself back, how she simply just _had _to touch him. Her gentle but insistent grasp on his scalp was titillating and wonderfully provocative.

It was several long moments before Rosalie felt comfortable guiding the man ever so slightly to her left. Her soft hand carded through his hair, inching down to caress his cheek with a soft mew. Feeling the movement of his jaw against her sensitive sex coaxed another rush of wetness from her center.

Red memorized the movement, shifting his lips and fluttering his tongue in the desired direction until his name and a thousand oaths echoed off the stone walls.

Another orgasm tore through Rosalie, making her whole body buckle in exhausted pleasure. Her legs wrapped unconsciously around Red, her little heels digging into his shoulder blades as she rode out the explosive release.

Raymond was having a terrible time keeping a smug grin from overcoming his face as he gently coaxed his lover down from her peak.

Rosalie gasped and rolled to her side, closing her legs lest the man's restless tongue find its way back to the apex of her thighs. Her whole frame shivered uncontrollably, which both amused and enticed Red.

He moved slowly up the bed, surrounding his lover with his comforting warmth and bulk. Raymond gathered the woman to him, cradling her in a soothing embrace. His nose nuzzled her cheek gently as he crooned a soft purr of praises in her ear.

The woman had thoroughly exceeded his wildest daydreams. The sounds which had cascaded from her mouth as he sought her pleasure left him with an almost brazen self-confidence. The taste of her was unlike any woman he had ever been with. Her responsiveness to his coaxing was nothing short of thrilling.

"You are so enchanting, little dove." He sighed, smoothing his warm hands in gentle passes over her back and shoulders. "You're going to have a hard time keeping my mouth away from you."

Rosalie giggled dazedly, cuddling deeper into his hold. "I adore any part of you between my thighs, Raymond, but my God…" She shook her head, "I've never experienced anything quite like your tongue."

A deep, sensuous laugh rumbled through the man's chest, vibrating pleasantly against Rosalie's ear as she was pulled closer to her lover.

"I thoroughly enjoy making you wild like this. Watching you come like that-" Several loud thunderclaps rent the air, cutting off his statement, leaving Rosalie to wonder what exactly watching her in such a state had done to the man.

She knew she loved him watching her so very intently, his gaze had practically burned her skin. The way he touched her, those dark orbs never leaving hers as she watched him suckle at her, the very sight left Rosalie lost in a sea of voracious need. "I desperately want you inside me." She confessed, surprised she could even form the sentence after an orgasm which was still sending its aftershocks through her limbs.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Asked Raymond, wholly surprised by the declaration.

The lights around them flickered slightly.

"Yes," she shivered, meeting his dark gaze with warm, pleading eyes. "Please, Raymond, I'm aching for you."

With a thunderous '_BOOM_', every light in the tower blew out.

A frisson of excitement ran through the two fugitives, finding themselves cast into total darkness.

A snarl of arousal echoed in the blackened room as strong, masculine hands pulled Rosalie astride Red. His lips crashed against hers, rough and demanding.

The woman whimpered her approval, gladly relenting to his every whim. Her soft hand trailed sharp nails down his bare chest, pulling another growl from deep within his broad torso.

Red mentally rejoiced when those little hands found their mark, slipping effortlessly beneath the waistband of his boxers, stroking his rigid shaft lovingly.

"I love your cock," she whispered, watching in fascination as her fingertips trailed gently over the heated flesh. He was so very thick, so hard for her. She wondered idly if the other women he'd been with ever drove him out of his mind like this. She sure as hell knew her past lovers paled in comparison.

Raymond gasped at her touch, his cock was hard enough to drive nails at this point. "I need to fuck you, little dove." He pleaded, arching into her teasing fingers.

Rosalie had wanted to play a little longer, had secretly wanted to take the bulging rod into her mouth and suckle until the man was as broken with ecstasy as she was. However, seeing the deep furrow of his brow and hearing the plaintive pleas to make love with her quickly altered her plans. The woman wasted no time in shifting across the bed, lying on her stomach as she dug in the nightstand drawer for the object in question. Closing her fingers around the elusive little square, she held it out behind her.

Red snatched it, tearing the foil open and sheathing his pulsing length in one smooth motion. Thunder clapped loudly in the distance, a streak of lightning illuminating the room as The man gripped his lover's hips, guiding her back to her hands and knees before him.

Rosalie cried out as he sank deep into her waiting heat. "Yes," she moaned in relief, pushing back into the thick appendage. A wonderful sensation of stability and satisfaction enveloped her as she felt every delectable inch of Raymond's erection slowly fill her tight body.

"God, _you have no idea how badly I need you_." Raymond hissed, "Watching you shatter over and over has left me so fucking hard."

Rosalie mewed her agreement, feeling the rigid head of his penis spreading her relentlessly. She pushed back to meet him, fucking him with her tight body.

"I love when you do that." Red moaned, bewitched by the show being performed for him. Rosalie's full, peachy backside bounced eagerly off his dick, ensuring he could feel every lovely inch of her slick heat enveloping him.

Raymond thrust in long, spine-tingling strokes, driving his lover steadily wild with the drag of his heavy shaft. "All this attention paid to your little clit has made you terribly sensitive, hasn't it, little dove?" He purred knowingly, feeling how her tight sex was already twitching snugly around his cock.

"_Yes_," She whimpered, focused entirely on the sensations building in her core. "God...so sensitive." Her slender arms were nestled beneath her, hands tucked adorably under her chin, clutching the sheets in a firm grip. "You feel so good," she mewed, her breathing accelerating as her body was lead down the path to Nirvana.

Red reached and grasped the tops of her shoulders, slamming his cock deep inside her to a chorus of delighted feminine sounds. The way her slick, velvety sex caressed his aching head, massaging his straining shaft wondrously, the man found himself teetering on an excruciating edge.

As Rosalie's hips began to buck, Raymond recalled why they had begun this little escapade in the first place. With a soft hiss of excitement, he curled the tips of his fingers into the supple flesh of Rosalie's shoulders, dragging his short nails in long, unrelenting scratches down her back to the very base of her spine.

The sensation made the woman's frame arch sharply, her breath hitching in that way he so dearly loved.

A feral moan leapt from Rosalie's lips as he scraped down her curves, leaving little red lines of his own on her pristine skin.

It felt so damn good, it made the woman shiver from head to toe.

"_See_?" Red growled knowingly, feeling her snug heat pulsing excitedly around him. "This is what I feel when you run those little nails of yours down my back. I don't have to explain how delicious it feels, do I little dove?"

"Oh…_oh keep doing that_." She fairly demanded, arching harder into his touch. The fingers tucked beneath her chin were white-knuckled, shredding the stark white sheets in their grasp.

Raymond grinned, utterly besotted with the wanton woman bouncing off his member, whimpering with each and every thrust.

She was so open and unreserved, so warm and inviting, so wonderfully responsive to his touch. Rosalie had managed in a few short days to outstrip every woman he had ever bedded simply by the way she unrestrainedly made love with him.

The man trailed his fingers down her spine again, relishing the feminine cry which poured from her lips as her body lovingly cradled him, gripping his driving cock like a vice, ensuring he came with her, the man's deep voice echoing her delight.

The pair found themselves perched at the kitchen counter an undefined time later, enjoying the first of many drinks to come. They were both flushed and relaxed, whether it was from the alcohol or their spirited performance earlier, they weren't entirely sure.

An arsenal of large, cylindrical candles were lit throughout the room, providing enough light for them to reasonably see. A fire was just beginning to crackle in the living room's hearth, creating a nice orange glow. The stove, being gas, was still in working order, the remnants of the boeuf bourguignon was slowly warming on the burner. A backup generator had also kicked on, carrying just enough power to run the refrigerator and the record player, which suited the two of them just fine.

Raymond found himself enraptured as Rosalie told him the story of how she had purchased the tower, a decadent tail of complete mischief, resulting in Florian coming to assist after Rosalie's stilted Norwegian got her into a bit of a linguistic bind.

When the woman stood to check the pot on the stove, they were both laughing quite rowdily. This, combined with their freely flowing drinks, resulted in her nearly falling face forward into the kitchen.

Red's reflexes were still, thankfully, in working order. A strong arm thrust out at the last moment, catching the curvaceous frame easily around the middle.

"Whoops!" Squealed Rosalie with a giggle, "Good catch, Watson."

The quip made the man give an indignant snort, "Why am I Watson? Surely I'm Sherlock?"

The woman was still bent double, dangling resignedly from his outstretched palm. "You can't be Shirley and Sherlock, those are terrible aliases." She chastised tipsily, followed by an annoyed sigh, "But, you're right, if anyone's Watson, it's Dembe."

Raymond shook his head, "You're quite adorable when you're drunk." He teased, moving to lift the little woman into his lap.

"I'm dead clumsy is what I am. A terror unto myself and others." Rosalie insisted vehemently, pleased to inexplicably find herself perched on the man's knee. "Oh I _do_ like being in your lap," she sighed, nuzzling into his neck.

Red was mentally thanking whatever deity was responsible for her knowledge of the word 'Kalsarikännit.' What had begun as a cozy, rainy day indoors had turned into an endless night of warm, sensual fun.

Rosalie was a cuddly little thing on a normal day, but four heavy-handed gin and tonics in, she was admittedly, rather clumsy, but also insatiably affectionate.

She wriggled restlessly, causing Red's grasp to shift upward to one of her pert breasts, palming the globe firmly in one large hand.

"_Ooh_," she cooed, arching into his warm grasp.

Red laughed that sultry laugh of his and his arms were suddenly full of a frisky little blonde. "How on earth are you still in need of me?" He questioned, admittedly quite pleased she seemed to be as ravenous as he was. He already knew his body would respond to any whim she may have.

"Horace has indicated if I turn out to be some kind of insatiable sex fiend, he'll be most upset." Rosalie commented idly, casting doe eyes upon her lover.

Raymond laughed at the abrupt change of tact, "Well, we will make sure not to get up to any business in his room. The rest of the house, well…" he sing-songed his head in a non-committal gesture.

Rosalie beamed her appreciation, "I fear I will never have my fill of you." She confessed, nibbling her way along his neck.

"Say that again." Raymond husked pulling her tighter to him.

"I will never tire of your body pressed intimately to mine." She purred in his ear, leaning to look at him through fathoms deep grey eyes. "I will never tire of touching you, caring for you, making love to you. I hope that's alright." Her lips sought his again, making the truth of her statement hit home for Raymond.

The man wrapped her in his arms, responding in kind. "I'm going to hold you to that."

"As long as you hold me." She quipped, a rich, genuine laugh cascading from her mouth at her own wit.

The sound tugged mercilessly at the heart strings of her companion. "Oh, I love that laugh." Raymond murmured, his voice so quiet Rosalie nearly missed the comment. His hand reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, "That one specifically, it falls from your lips in such a way, you couldn't have held it back if you tried." Those green eyes held hers with a stifling sincerity. "I love making you laugh, if only for the promise of hearing it. The way it dances along my skin," he placed a warm hand over the one she had placed on his cheek, "There's nothing quite like it."

The woman blushed scarlet, rendered speechless and terribly flattered by his quiet declaration. The statement had taken her so thoroughly by surprise, she simply gaped for a moment before beaming fondly at him.

Raymond met the gesture with interest, kissing Rosalie thoroughly before standing and placing her on her feet. "To the fire, little dove." He commanded, patting her backside in the appropriate direction.

The woman tipsily made her way to the seating area, settling herself on the rug beside the warm fire.

Raymond appeared moments later with a hearty bowl of the boeuf bourguignon and two spoons. "How much wine is in this?" He questioned, grunting his approval of the robust dish.

"A whole bottle." Chimed Rosalie with a grin.

"Woman after my own heart," Red insisted, taking another generous spoonful. "Who taught you to cook?"

"My mother, mostly, a bit from my grandmother here and there." She took her spoon gratefully, "This particular dish, however, I learned at the knee of Marietta Armel."

The echo of the fiery Frenchwoman bursting into the young woman's room at the Armel's home, declaring she was going to teach her to cook the proper French way, was one of Rosalie's most cherished memories.

"You and the Armels are family." Red commented, knowing from her earlier interactions with Florian, the woman adored her pseudo-adoptive parents.

"I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Florian," Rosalie readily admitted, "And I wouldn't be half as comfortable in this life had I never met his wife." She turned to catch Raymond's interested gaze. "I love them dearly, and I owe them both a great debt. They selflessly filled a hole in my life I didn't even know was there.

Red's eyes softened, "They love you too, very much." His mind recalled his discussion with Florian at the safehouse in Bulgaria, when the old mobster had openly admitted the spritely innkeeper was one of those whom he loved most in this world. Raymond had promised he would take care of Rosalie, that she would be one of his own. He didn't think a romantic relationship was quite what the man expected.

The men hadn't spoken since the incident at Marcelo's party months ago, and Red couldn't help but wonder how Florian would respond to this new development.

Rosalie's warm voice interrupted his thoughts, "One day, I'll tell you the story of my finding the Armel family, and you'll tell me the story of whatever's in your waistcoat pocket."

Her visage held a sly smile, making Red chuckle. He held out a firm hand, which she took, sealing the deal.

A not altogether uncomfortable silence followed, another firm truth settling between them.

"We will have to tell Florian." Sighed Rosalie, glancing nervously up at her companion.

Raymond's posture tightened visibly, "...And?" He asked, wondering if she had expected him to keep their relationship a secret. The thought bothered the man immensely. He would not hide their involvement, he couldn't love her quietly in the dark and pretend not to feel the same way in the light.

"If you're implying-" he began heatedly.

"I'm _implying _you should be ready for Florian to throw a spectacular fit." She snipped, "He won't be happy about us." She already knew how he would respond and was already dreading the unpleasantness which would follow the altercation.

"What does Florian's happiness have to do with ours?" Raymond growled with vigor, firing up at once.

Rosalie stood to pour herself another drink, taking a long moment to respond. When she did, the fight was gone out of her voice. "Florian's the closest thing I've had to a father these past five years." She whispered honestly, "Is it so wrong for me to wish for his approval?"

Red's stiff stature softened immediately, understanding her plight. She was dreading Florian finding out about them because she would once again be out in the impossible situation of standing between her parental figure and her lover. For someone with Rosalie's empathetic personality, being at odds with two of the precious few people she actually allowed into her life was utterly exhausting. Yet, to not tell Florian would be a monstrous betrayal the likes of which neither Raymond nor Rosalie could stomach.

"No," Raymond assured the woman, stepping around the living room furniture and gathering her in his arms. "No, there is nothing wrong with that."

They stood for a while in contemplative silence before Rosalie tilted her head upward. "I don't want us to be a secret, Raymond. I'm sorry if my response gave you the impression. That is not at all what I want."

Red tilted his head, placing his lips to her cheek in a hope to brighten her mood. "Good, because I won't be able to hide it."

A slow, shy smile tugged at Rosalie's lips, "Really?"

Raymond nodded, "Neither will you." He was quite certain, nobody would believe they weren't together. Their dynamic had always been sexually charged, but it now held an aura of completion, of belonging. It was as though Rosalie was well and truly his now, and he hers.

Rosalie laughed softly, "We're rather obvious, huh?"

Red smiled back at her, "I like you being so obviously mine, and I so blatantly yours." His voice held a protective, masculine undertone which stirred the ache in Rosalie's chest.

The rest of the world could look, could wonder and attempt to garner their attention, their favor, but Raymond and Rosalie would be far too busy enjoying their relationship to even bother with the rest.

"Florian will come around," Raymond murmured, kissing her temple, "He adores you too much to be upset for long."

Rosalie smiled into the man's chest, feeling considerably better. They would be together and happy regardless of it all. "I know he will. Until then, let's not dwell on it."

The evening continued into the early hours of the morning, the pair thoroughly enjoying their Kalsarikännit activities. There was barely enough scotch and gin left for one more drink as the storm raged on outside.

Raymond's attention turned toward the omnipresent bookshelves in the living area, beaming at them fondly, if not a little drunkenly. "_God_, I love your little tricks with the books." He proclaimed, the slightest hint of a slur in his voice.

"I love how your sexy voice becomes permanent after your sixth glass of Bowmore." Rosalie retorted impishly, her delicate ankles crossed vertically in the air as was her custom, resting atop the sofa's arm.

Red let out a torrid chuckle, glancing at her profile with interest. "Hold that thought," he insisted, turning back to the shelf and eyeing a row of books which caught his eye. "Are these _all _about sex?"

Rosalie laughed a tinkling laugh, covering her mouth when she saw which row he was perusing. "Yes."

"Oh!" She gasped suddenly recalling something she had wished to look up, "Hand me the dark blue one, fourth book in, will you?"

Raymond plucked the thick tome from the shelf, looking studiously at the embossed cover. "Really, Rosalie, _Tantra_?"

"Don't think you're up to the task?" She quipped, eyes alight with mischief, her hand stretching out waggling little fingers, demanding he hand over the reading material.

"I think you're determined to ruin me for any other woman." He replied honestly, sniggering when the little deviant pulled the book from his grasp.

"There's a position in here I remember being curious about." She murmured, thumbing through the pages thoughtfully.

"You're thinking of the Kama Sutra, my dear," Red offered solicitously, moving back toward the array of books.

"I have that too," she informed him, "But I know it's in the tantric one…"

Her voice trailed off as she began to read, leaving Red to peruse the collection. The row held a plethora of material on sexuality and sensuality from several different cultures. A hard bound copy of the Kama Sutra stood out amongst offerings like Histoire d'O, Delta of Venus, and several anthologies of erotic poetry from the likes of Pablo Neruda and E.E. Cummings all filled out the stacks. Her preferences stirred his curiosity immensely.

He pulled Histoire d'O from the row, meandering back towards the innkeeper with a boyish grin on his face. "Read this to me in French?"

Rosalie grinned her utter delight, setting the Tantra aside and patting the space next to her.

Raymond beamed, laying so he was perpendicular to her, resting his head against her waist.

His lover dropped her hand to card through his hair and caress his cheek, her warm, sensual voice purring the first chapter in a charming French lilt.

Several hours later, Rosalie awoke in the massive bed, her lover curled possessively around her torso. She yawned and stretched slightly, a revolting development invading her relaxed mind.

She was terribly hungover.

A grunt issued from the man cuddled against her chest, informing her he, too, was feeling the effects of last night's antics.

"_ Why _did we drink so much?" Rosalie groaned, her head spinning horribly.

"It was _your _idea," Raymond readily accused, one large, warm hand reached up to cradle her left breast, the right was already operating as a cushion for the man's head.

"It was _your _story." Rosalie groused, arching unconsciously into his touch. "I need to shower, I can feel the gin seeping from my pores."

"_ You _suggested we do the damn thing, and I don't know about you, but I don't think I could stand for a shower." The man admitted, his head pounding and his entire body feeling as though it carried a lead weight.

"I have to do something with my hair," sighed Rosalie, not at all wanting to go downstairs and begin the tedious task of tending to her now wild curls.

Raymond waved the notion aside, "We'll draw a bath, then."

The young woman immediately perked up at the idea. "Oh I do love the bath here."

After a quick bite to eat, Raymond turned on the bath's large taps, allowing the warm water to slowly fill the massive tub. There was an assortment of oils, salts, and scrubs in glass jars on a shelf beside the bath which caught his attention. Settling a stack of towels beside the steps leading to the whirlpool, Red descended into the rising water.

Rosalie happily fixed them both a drink, leaning heavily on the 'hair of the dog' philosophy. She tossed a couple frozen whiskey stones in the bottom of her glass, forgoing Red's because she knew he didn't like his scotch chilled. Before she descended the stairs, another idea came to her, sending her scurrying back toward the bedroom with an excited grin.

Raymond was busy conducting hungover alchemy experiments in the en-suite's large tub. Having opened each and every bottle to determine what lay within, the man was now tossing an assortment of their combined contents into the steaming water around him. He had just added a flourish of green bath salts when he heard a soft titter from behind him.

The Concierge of Crime turned, still bleary-eyed, to see a lovely blonde creature staring at him in amused affection.

"_ Rub a dub dub, there's a fugitive in my tub _." She joked, quite pleased with her display of irreverent wit. She held his scotch in one hand, her own gin and a lit Cohiba in the other. The cigar smelled wonderful, beckoning Raymond to its intricate flavors.

"I believe you have something of mine, little dove." Red purred, reaching for the lit item.

Rosalie danced just out of his grasp, giggling infectiously. "I believe _I _was the one who stole these, _darling _." She said, placing his scotch at the water's edge before scuttling away from him once again.

"I believe _I _was the one dealing with Castro first, you little tyrant." Red groused, very nearly catching the hem of her towel. His lips quirked reluctantly upward as her laugh bounced gaily off the stone walls.

"Yeah, but _who _got _you _off the island?" She smirked, taking one goading step back toward him.

"Edward." Red replied without missing a beat.

Rosalie blinked blithely back at him, taking a long, exaggerated puff from the delicious looking cigar.

Red watched her with narrowed eyes, changing his tack to suit their particular brand of negotiations. "Get in here, _woman _, I want to taste that Cohiba on your lips."

The retort sufficed to make Rosalie squeak with surprise, a blush covering her from head to toe.

"My, my, Miss Øllegaard, such a pretty pink hue you're wearing. I had no idea you would respond to such talk." Raymond laughed, thoroughly enjoying setting the woman on her heels. He had known such an open call to her sense of depravity would shock and entice.

"I…" Rosalie honestly didn't know how to respond, she had no idea she liked that sort of talk either. Though, she realized now, there were a great many things she liked, but only when Raymond did them. The thought made her insides squirm in a pleasant way.

Her ruminations were interrupted when her towel was unceremoniously snatched by a marauding fugitive.

The sight of her delightfully in the buff coaxed a grunt of appreciation from her partner. The pretty blush extended to every lovely corner of her as she strode obediently toward the whirlpool's steps.

Red held out a chivalrous hand to assist her, another crack of thunder rumbling in the distance.

Once engulfed by the warm, fragrant water, Rosalie allowed the man to pull her close. She giggled openly, nuzzling him and kissing him to her heart's content.

Raymond took a seat in the far corner of the tub, tugging the little minx into his lap. She maintained her hold on the Cohiba, waiting until they were both settled before holding the offering up to his lips.

She watched in fascination as the man's tongue darted out to dab at the cigar, how his soft, sensual lips wrapped about the very tip. Her eyes grew hooded, thinking about how his mouth felt tormenting her most sensitive places. Raymond took a generous puff, blowing the smoke in a long, vertical plume. His dexterous fingers eased the item from the woman's grasp as he took another puff, enjoying the sophisticated notes and flavors hidden within.

He reversed the cigar, holding it comfortably for the woman before him.

Rosalie's plump lips took the place where his had been, her cheeks hollowing to pull the smoke into her mouth.

Red's entire body responded to the action, stiffening and lengthening, wondering what other things her mouth could do.

The few large candles in the bath flickered lazily, casting them in a soft, yellow hue. The way the light danced on Rosalie's wet skin stole the man's attention for a long beat.

The woman caught him staring, a warm smile lighting her features as she leaned forward, peppering his lips with kisses.

She continued showering him in affection, soothing his headache by several degrees.

Raymond set the cigar aside for the moment, settling into the task of sudsing them both with some of the decadent lather created by the bath products. Rosalie sighed her enjoyment, pulling the book they had begun the night before from her robe.

A contented smile pulled at Red's lips as he heard the woman start to read, the soothing sound of her voice murmuring in French pleasing to his ears.

Now _this _was the way to recover from a hangover.

The sound of a satellite phone echoed jarringly through the bath an undefined time later, disturbing the warmth and quiet of a lover's embrace.

Deep grey eyes found piercing green, a tale of melancholy written in their depths. They knew their time together had been drawing quickly to a close. They had wished for one more week, one more day, one more hour, to stay safely in this sanctuary, just the two of them.

The sound rang loudly through the space again, demanding they relent to the inevitable. Rosalie turned to place her lips gently to Raymond's, stroking the stubble of his cheek fondly as she poured her heart out to him.

Her lover responded in kind, understanding her emotions, feeling the loss of this haven just as much as she. His arm lifted as the broke, grasping the noisy device from his robe and answering the call.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice gruff and drowsy sounding.

Rosalie burrowed her face in his neck as she heard the muffled sound of Dembe's voice on the other line.

"What day is it?" Asked Raymond, running his fingertips along Rosalie's shoulder blades. "Yeah, we will see you then."

The man ended the call without another word, wrapping his arms back around his companion.

"Horace and Dembe will be here tomorrow." He murmured against her shoulder, trailing warm lips along her collar bone.

Rosalie sighed, nodding with a forlorn look which made the man's chest ache. "We will be okay, Rosalie." He promised.

If there was anything of which Raymond Reddington was certain in that moment, it was the fact he would do everything in his power to keep this woman. He would protect her, care for her, she would want for nothing at his side.

"I know we will be." She whispered sincerely, "I'm just not ready to leave yet." She confessed, "I've loved every moment with you here, just the two of us. Getting to know you better, getting to care for you, to touch you, to make love with you, it's been a dream."

Raymond kisses her forehead, "So have I," he assured. "We will assure our days are spent as happy as these, won't we, little dove?"

Rosalie's eyes shone slightly, looking to him for comfort. She nodded and burrowed deeper into his embrace. "Thank you for doing this, for making sure we had this time alone."

Raymond held her tight, thanking every deity known to man he'd had the foresight to know they'd need this uninterrupted spell together. "Let's go to our room, little dove," he suggested, voice thick with emotion, "I want to hold you."

Rosalie nodded sedately, leading them both from the large tub, drying off and heading for the spiral staircase.

Thunder boomed loudly, a bolt of lightning illuminating the home's interior as they reached the main living space. The bright light cast the lovers in a pearly blue glow for but a moment. In those seconds, Red's gaze sought Rosalie. She stood perfectly nude, framed in the home's floor to ceiling windows, the ache in her eyes cutting the man to his core.

Raymond had waited so long for someone to look at him the way she did in those flickering seconds.

She looked like she could…

Like she _might… _

If given the chance…

Rosalie looked at him like she could love him in ways no one ever had, in ways Raymond himself hadn't yet imagined.

Aching hands searched the darkness for her, encompassing the feminine frame in a loving hold, guiding them both toward the sanctuary of their bedroom.

Raymond's mouth was parted sensually, the pleasure he was feeling robbed him of his usually litany of arousing dialogue. The delectable pull of Rosalie's warmth with each movement of her hips occupied his full and undivided attention. He had been ridden by a woman before, but never quite like this.

The dwindling hours of their time at Fyr seemed to strike the most sensual of chords within his lover, bringing to light more of her proclivity for bestowing an endless river of affection.

The beautiful creature atop The man's rigid member moved in a way which made Raymond's whole body bow. The slow pace elongated every sensation, every ripple of her sex and every pulse of his shaft seemed heightened tenfold.

Rosalie's slender fingers were threaded with Raymond's thicker digits in a powerfully intimate gesture, pinning the man's hands to the bed on either side of his head. This position shifted the woman ever so slightly forward, placing her pert breasts in the perfect position for Red to shower them with attention. He suckled greedily at the pink pebbled flesh, flicking his tongue rapidly over each delicious peak and grunting his satisfaction when each lick made the woman astride him buck.

"_God_, Rosalie," he moaned, his body wracked with delicious ecstasy. He wanted to come and yet he didn't, he wanted this gorgeous siren to continue her possession of him until the end of his days.

She fit him so perfectly, her snug, wet quim captivating him in ways he had never thought possible. The smooth roll of her hips beckoned his attention to her beautiful body. "Do you have any idea what you do to me, little dove? The way you take every inch of me, the way you arch into me, begging me to take you deeper. I've never felt so sated, so thoroughly, deliciously satisfied in my life."

"_Raymond_." She mewled, continuing her excruciatingly slow assault. "I…I _need _you." She whimpered, her molten grey eyes holding his steadily as the man's aching cock was surrounded by her wet, quivering heat once again.

Raymond understood, he felt it too. "Despite this bone-deep satisfaction, I still can't get enough of you."

"S-so good," Rosalie shivered as she inched slowly down the rigid flesh. Her body relented little by little, allowing his length to fill her to the brim. "It's so deep." She sighed as she took him to the hilt.

The way Red's girth settled inside her and the way she was already burning with desire, Rosalie was rather surprised she hadn't come already.

Raymond growled his pleasure as the tunnel pulsed helplessly around him.

"That's it, take every last inch." He could feel every little flutter while her tight pussy worked to accommodate him. Without warning, he thrust sharply up into his lover, making her cry out with the sudden intensity.

Rosalie was already on the edge, the man could feel it. It would take little to no effort for Red to have her coming around his shaft. He continued his movements, thrusting into her quaking frame in short, sharp movements. His head remained perfectly poised over her g-spot, massaging it with every pass.

Rosalie rocked back into Raymond, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. "Yes, _right there_…" She pleaded, desperate to meet the demands of her body. It felt like she was balanced on a razor's edge, the need to reach the peak of orgasm outstripping all else.

"_Raymond_," She mewled, meeting each thrust, pushing him deeper inside her.

Her lover dropped his thumb to the hood of her sex, circling it just so. "Come for me, Rosalie." He murmured, "Show me how good I make you feel."

Rosalie moaned above him, her thighs twitching with the effort of chasing her climax.

Red continued pumping her slick depths, driving her steadily out of her mind.

Another crackle of lightning split the landscape outside, casting them in an ethereal glow once again.

Raymond's instincts took over, shifting them so he was sitting up against the beds headboard, his lover still astride him.

"Lean back, little dove, I've got you." He purred, his large hands holding firmly to the small of her back.

Red had taken the liberty of discovering which position in the Tantra had caught her avid curiosity, pleased as hell to find it involved was quite achievable and would leave the woman fully open to any caress which might catch the man's fancy.

Realizing what he meant, Rosalie flashed a shy little grin before she arched, allowing her body to bend backward. Her head rested just below Raymond's knees, her hands reaching up to stroke his calves.

Raymond moaned as another thunderclap tent the air like a cannon blast, a pearly blue streak filling the room, showing him the incredible view in vivid detail.

Rosalie was stretched out before him, still perfectly impaled on his throbbing cock, open in every way imaginable. From this position Raymond could happily touch and tease every last inch of her. Her full breasts in particular, stood on full display, still perfectly within reach of his wandering mouth.

"You are so beautiful," he crooned, leaning forward and capturing a pert nipple between his lips, suckling hard on the pebbles peak as he rocked forward.

Rosalie moaned throatily, dipping her hips to meet him.

The pair continued their previous slow pace, falling into a comfortable rhythm which rocked every inch of Red's shaft deep within her pussy. Their breathing was smooth and steady, as unhurried as their lovemaking.

Raymond pulled Rosalie closer, shifting so her pelvis was flush with his.

The man's cock settled so very deep, the rock hard head butting intimately against the woman's cervix.

Rosalie gasped, a spine-deep tingling moving throughout her body. "_Oh my God,_" She mewled, rolling her hips into the sensation, pushing him harder against the sensitive muscles.

The sensation made both their mouths drop open in gasping pleasure.

"_Jesus_," groaned Raymond, hips bucking against her.

Rosalie shook from the intensity, an orgasm not far off.

Her lover watched in awe as she wound tighter and tighter, the slow, steady drag of his manhood inside her driving them both made with need.

Red had seen many incredible works of art in his lifetime. Long lost relics, masterpieces he himself had stolen, they all paled in comparison to the shapely figure occupying his arms.

"I have seen so much in my life." He murmured, kissing a sensual path up her ribcage.

"I have seen the world and sailed the seas. I've been a traitor, a broker, a spy, a sailor..." He whispered, his mouth making its way to her breasts.

Rosalie moaned her delight as she felt another love bite being made against her burning skin.

Red lifted his head to gaze at the beautiful creature before him, passionate and wild as a summer storm.

"In all the far flung corners of this earth, I have never encountered anything as beautiful as you, basking in our lovemaking, moving with me as though you were made to fit. Bespoke. _Just for me._"


	20. Telling Tales

_Blacksite #13 a.k.a "Fyr" - Undisclosed Location, Norway - July 14th, 1999 _

Slate grey eyes flitted along the expanse of Raymond Reddington's chest, interestedly observing the glittering rays of sunlight which shimmered along the swath of curls dusting the man's pectorals. Lone digits light as feathers traced the length of his torso as he slept, memorizing the feel of his warm skin rising and falling beneath her fingertips with every breath.

The storm had finally receded, leaving a soft fog rolling over dew-strewn hills and a sky alight with vivid pink, palest yellow, and moody lilac. The magnificent landscape beckoned, but the woman's eyes were only for her lover. The man's naked frame was drenched in golden light from the returning sun, allowing Rosalie an unrivaled opportunity to explore every inch of him.

She now knew the hairs on Raymond's chest rode the finest of lines between blond and light brown, much like the hair on his head. The curls were delightfully soft to the touch and bore the faintest aroma of eucalyptus and basil. Rosalie lifted her head, nestling her chin against Red's sternum and swirling her nails through the warm down.

Was there anything as soothing or enticing as the scent of a lover?

She didn't think so.

On any given day, Rosalie could pick up a variety of lovely scents on Red's person. His aftershave, a touch of scotch, occasionally a whiff of cigar smoke, they all mixed with the unmistakable scent of warm male, those pheromones which were uniquely his. Today, she could also distinguish the tiniest hint of sex clinging to his skin, flooding her mind with all kinds of steamy recollections from the night before.

The tip of Rosalie's nose traced the plains of Red's torso, affectionately nuzzling here and there. Her wanderings took her across his nipple once, they tiny bud reacting instantly to the contact. The sight made her smile, knowing even as Raymond soundly slept, his body responded to her every touch.

A soft moan tumbled from his mouth as the woman brushed the dusky pebble once more.

A deep-seated urge to lick the tightening flesh came over her, but she abstained, determined to let the man sleep.

They had enjoyed a truly incredible week together, culminating in a seemingly endless night of erotic endeavors. The storm had roared outside while the air between the pair crackled with passion and meaning within the dark confines of the four poster bed.

Rosalie had been genuinely upset to find their time together rapidly approaching its close.

Raymond, however had known precisely how to soothe the melancholic ache they were feeling. He had calmed every corner of his lover with his warmth and affection, holding her in a lover's embrace throughout the night.

Rosalie still couldn't shake the way he had looked at her. Those green orbs had sparked with new emotions at every turn, each flash of lightning giving the woman a glimpse of the man within. She had been practically paralyzed by the man's gaze. Raymond looked at her as though he knew, knew who she was, who she is, knew those closely guarded corners she wanted to give to him.

Their connection had been tempered with every touch, every look, every word. They had whispered and purred their ardent praises, their all-encompassing desire in the darkened room. Each ensured the other knew, regardless of the loss of their quiet sanctum, that they would not be facing their unpredictable world alone.

Rosalie felt steady once again, ready to jump back into their wild life with both feet. She glanced surreptitiously at the small clock on the nightstand, noticing Horace and Dembe would not be at the house for a few hours yet. The realization made her smile broadly.

Her wandering fingers trekked away from the torso she had been so studiously perusing, migrating south toward her lover's hips while her lips headed north.

Raymond awoke when he felt a pair of velvety soft lips graze his left nipple, followed by a warm, wet little tongue, flicking the tightened bud playfully. He carefully maintained the facade of sleep, waiting to see where this little bout of exploration would take his companion.

Rosalie caught the subtle twitch of his nose, knowing he was awake. She grinned, continuing her playing as though nothing were amiss.

Soft hands trailed down Red's torso, along the sensitive skin of his sides, making the muscles beneath twitch.

The woman fought to maintain her silence, realizing she had found one of Raymond Reddington's ticklish spots. This discovery was nothing short of thrilling, making Rosalie bite her lip with suppressed delight.

Red, on the other hand, was biting his tongue to keep from laughing. He wasn't ticklish per se, he told himself, merely sensitive to such teasing strokes to his more sensitized areas.

Rosalie couldn't help but ghost her fingertips along the spot again, sighing her enjoyment when the muscles of his abdomen pulsed spasmodically.

Raymond heard the soft sigh of excitement at her findings, knowing in his gut he had been found out. A grin threatened to take over his features when the hands continued their movement down toward his pelvis.

Reaching her desired locale, Rosalie rubbed warm, gentle palms along the man's hips and thighs.

Red let out a soft hum of enjoyment, relaxing into her ministrations. She carefully kneaded the muscles in his legs, making him grunt with pleasure as each tense spot gave in to her gentle coaxing. He became more and more aware of her touch the closer she got to his manhood, the silky soft hands skirting elusively around its base, never getting quite close enough for his liking.

Raymond didn't have to open his eyes to know his wayward cock was rising to attention. The damn thing had a mind of its own these days. Having no desire to listen to the likes of him, the twitching appendage had become finely tuned to the needs and whims of the voluptuous blonde straddling him. The man couldn't very well blame it, the picture she must be painting nearly coaxed him to open his eyes to the bright morning sun.

Instead, he lay perfectly still, waiting, listening intently for what Rosalie would do next.

Slender fingers swirled and danced around his straining flesh, teasing and exciting the fattening length, never quite taking him in hand. Soft sighs and delicate mews of arousal abounded as the woman between Red's legs sought to drive him spare.

"You're making me hard." His deep voice finally grumbled, sleep-addled and gravelly.

The sound of his rumbling drawl brought a broad smile to Rosalie's lips. "What a crying shame." She murmured sympathetically, tugging the loose sheet slowly down his nude frame.

"It's too early for you to steal my sheets." He complained, stretching like a dozing lion as he was bared to his lover's attention.

A feminine giggle could be heard from the vicinity of his feet, the sound making Red smile.

"I thought this might be a better way to wake up than that noisy alarm clock." Rosalie admitted, continuing her playtime.

Raymond moaned softly, his eyes still closed, avoiding the blazing sunlight and simply enjoying the pleasurable wakeup call.

"It's a shame you stopped feigning sleep," Rosalie added idly, "I've always wanted to wake a lover with oral sex."

A guttural sound issued from Raymond's throat, the very thought of waking up to her luscious mouth wrapped around his cock made the man's pulse race.

"And now?" He asked, eager to hear what she planned to do with him since he had unknowingly foiled her dubious plot.

"Now I plan to slowly work you into a frenzy." Rosalie informed him in a sultry little purr which sent goosebumps down the man's frame.

Red could certainly live with such criteria.

"I'm at your mercy, my dear," he crooned, settling deeper into the plush bed, threading his fingers behind his head and spreading his legs a little further. "Do with me what you will."

A husky sigh reached the man's ears, widening his smile into a broad grin. He had known submitting to her desire to play would yield utterly decadent results. He wasn't disappointed as the young woman set about exploring him with gusto.

Petal soft lips met his legs, peppering the stocky limbs with affection as Rosalie moved slowly back up his body.

Raymond gave a relaxed sigh, focusing on the lovely sensations occurring all over his body.

The hot little mouth mapped him inch by inch, never moving faster than absolutely necessary. Several minutes passed and the man was practically purring his enjoyment, content to allow his lover's every whim, however, Raymond simply had to look. He had to see the curvaceous figure straddling his thigh, trailing her loving mouth everywhere but where he most desperately needed to be touched.

The man opened his eyes slowly, wincing a tad from the bright sunlight. As his vision adjusted, Red was greeted with a most delectable scene.

Rosalie knelt, straddling his thigh, full breasts skirting his hip as she kissed her way up his torso. The valley between her legs was radiating heat, her dark eyes were watching him avidly, and those honeyed curls were in a right state, flowing wildly down her delicate shoulders.

"_ Son of a bitch _." Grunted Raymond, thoroughly pleased with this wake up call. "Any time you desire to double as my alarm clock, you will find me quite amenable to the idea."

Rosalie tittered, glad to find him in a good humor and seemingly enjoying the attention. "Careful, I might just take you up on that." She took his bulging shaft in hand, sliding up and down the heavy length without a care in the world.

"Please do," Red moaned, lurching into her grasp. He watched intently as she swirled her palm over his heated flesh, memorizing the sensation.

Rosalie observed her motions intently, her little pink tongue catching between her teeth periodically.

"Don't even think about it." Raymond's deep, graveled voice cut right through her musings, seeing the devious plot taking shape in her mind.

"Why not?" She whined, placing an open-mouthed kiss to the very top of his member.

"Because," Red hissed, feeling the soft kiss in every nerve ending from his head to his toes. "We are in for a very long flight and I'll be hard pressed to behave myself if I haven't had you at least twice."

Rosalie giggled, "You are perfectly capable of controlling your urges. Besides, I wouldn't leave you in such a state." She insisted, pressing her warm, wet tongue to the underside of his shaft and licking slowly upward.

A carnal moan shook the man's frame at the action. He needed to sideline this little expedition or he would be locked into a fifteen hour flight with this insatiable ache gnawing at him. "Able and willing are two very different adjectives, Rosalie."

The woman tutted at the retort. "Come now, where's this infamous Raymond Reddington control I've heard so much about?" She teased, her tone an impish one.

"Surely you've realized by now, I have little control where you are concerned." He readily admitted, his head lolling backward as Rosalie's lips left a trail of kisses along his cock.

The admission gave the woman pause, she looked up to his face with something akin to wonderment. "I didn't realize I had garnered such a lofty position in your eyes." She whispered, touched by such an admission.

A corner of Red's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. He had not intended to say such a thing aloud, thinking it a tad too revealing. Rosalie seemed to appreciate his honesty, though, and the man soon found himself gazing down at her in open affection as she continued to touch and stroke him.

"I'll relent on one condition." She murmured seductively, her wet tongue darting out to lick her plump lips.

Red grunted at the action, watching with pained arousal. "Name it."

"I expect to continue this later, uninterrupted. You'll be a good boy while I have my wicked way with you."

Raymond couldn't help the naughty grin which lit his features, a rampant shiver running the length of his body.

Rosalie realized he looked like anything _but _a good boy.

"You can have me in whatever way your little heart desires as soon as we reach Hong Kong." He growled, enjoying the quiver of delight the words sent down her frame. "As long as you're a good little dove for me, right now."

"_Promise_?" Rosalie breathed, her voice belying her need.

"I promise," Red chuckled, "Now _come here _," he insisted, reaching for those wandering little hands.

Rosalie willingly abandoned her pastime, aroused to the point of distraction after her all too brief Tour de Reddington.

Raymond wrapped his arms around her naked frame, rolling them both so his lover was pinned beneath him. Her legs spread welcomingly, making room for the hot-blooded male nudging his way between her thighs.

His rigid length was nestled against her sex, brushing periodically against the sensitive pearl at its peak.

Rosalie mewled heatedly, feeling the wetness of her center coating his bare shaft. The sensation of his smooth, heavy cock dragging along her clit had her quaking beneath him.

"Don't keep me waiting." She pleaded, claiming Red's mouth and rocking her pelvis forward, catching the hard head of the man's penis between her velvety lips.

Both their breaths hitched audibly, the desire to complete the union sans protection hanging heavy in the air around them.

Deep gray orbs sought out clever green, finding them locked on her with a ferocity Rosalie found thrilling.

"You're playing with fire little dove." He warned, reaching for the nightstand drawer. The leaning motion pressed his head against the slick opening, garnering a wanton whimper from its owner.

Rosalie brought her index finger to her lips, her teeth catching the tip of the digit, suddenly nervous she was being too forward.

Raymond chuckled darkly, the expression on her features deceivingly innocent. He decided to give her a reprieve, saving this particular discussion for a later date when they could both think straight. As it was, the man's cock was painfully hard and in dire need of its tight, wet little playmate.

Once the condom was firmly in place, he realigned his throbbing crown with the sodden hole, inching forward at a torturous pace.

The woman gasped as her tight heat captured the rounded head, gratified by the intrusion. His girth moved steadily into her, ensuring Rosalie could feel every rock hard centimeter filling her up.

A wild, whimpering moan left her lips, this slow possession making her climb the walls.

Raymond snarled in response as her fluttering sex gave way to his thick member. Helpless spasms massaged his length perfectly as he pushed forward, seating himself in one long, slow movement, deep within his lover's body.

They both huffed with the exertion as their connection was completed and Raymond's heavy manhood was nestled as far as possible in Rosalie's silky depths.

"You're so damn _tight _." He moaned, pulling out a fraction of an inch and snapping his hips forward.

The woman yelped, having just enough time to register the delicious slide of his length between her lips before the head of his cock butted intimately against her cervix. "Oh God," she whimpered, feeling the familiar tingling at the base of her spine.

"You like it when I do that, little dove?" Raymond cooed, dropping his mouth to her pert nipples, the straining pebbles practically begging for his attention.

"I _love it _when you do that." Rosalie admitted with a soft shiver, "It's so, _so _intense."

The man smiled around the tormented peak he was suckling, continuing his slow thrusts, alternating between tantalizingly shallow and impossibly deep.

Rosalie was damn near losing her mind, canting her hips upward to meet him as his shaft plundered every inch of her quivering pussy in fluctuating depths.

"Jesus, woman," Red rasped his arousal, feeling how incredibly wet she had become. "This just drives you _wild _, doesn't it? Not knowing if I'm going to stay shallow or have you take me right to the hilt?"

Rosalie nodded feverishly, the variations truthfully holding her to an excruciating edge. "Yes, yes,_ don't stop _, Raymond." She pleaded, swiveling her pelvis to meet his thrust.

"_ Holy- _" Red's brow furrowed and his mouth dropped open at the sensation. "That feels so good..." He groaned, grasping the woman's shoulders and pulling her lithe body downward into his driving force.

Rosalie swiveled her hips in the same motion, her head falling back as Raymond's thrust coincided at just the right moment, the rigid tip of his penis connecting soundly with her g-spot. Stars burst behind the woman's eyes and her entire frame set to trembling.

"Oh...oh shit, _oh shit. _" She moaned, arching greedily into his thrusts, urging him to a faster tempo.

"That's it," Raymond coaxed, snapping his hips forward into her clenching heat, feeling her rapidly relent to the pleasure he gave.

"_ Raymond _!" Rosalie cried out, the coil which had been winding tightly within her snapped with a vicious force, making her writhe and buck in desperation beneath her lover.

"_ Yes _, honey, come on my cock." Red husked, nipping and kissing and teasing every available inch of her. He drew out her orgasm in every way possible, leaving the woman panting and quaking in his embrace.

Raymond slid his hands up under Rosalie's shoulder blades and threaded his fingers intimately with hers. He pulled gently downward, so their hands were nestled together alongside her neck. One of his fingertips stroked the sensitive skin there, his mouth leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses along the hollow.

Rosalie mewled when his hips rolled forward again, her over-sensitized sex thrumming its delight.

Red groaned, feeling her feminine frame undulating beneath him, meeting his movements in a desirous rutting motion.

"You like when I arch into you, don't you, darling?" His lover cooed, dipping her hips to complete their connection once again.

Raymond grunted, the rippling tunnel dragging him closer and closer to the euphoria he craved. "Oh, yes," he purred, ear hovering over her eloquent mouth, waiting to hear more of her arousing murmurings. "I _love_ _it_ when you do that."

"I don't think we've gone fifteen hours without sex in the past week… How you think I'll manage such a long flight without touching you is beyond me." Rosalie teased, nibbling his earlobe and circling her thumbs along the backs of his large hands.

Red let out a sultry laugh, nuzzling the silky skin of her chest and shoulders to his heart's content. "Should I expect to be accosted on my own plane, little dove?" He grinned, nipping the junction at the base of her neck.

Rosalie sighed melodiously, her inner muscles tightening of their own accord when the man hit a particularly delicious sweet spot. "_ Ohhh… _Yes, right there." She managed to squeak out the entreaty, her legs tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper.

Raymond watched her face glow with pleasure for a moment before he shifted back to shallow thrusts.

A sexy little growl of frustration left her lips, making the man grin wickedly.

"_ Fuck me _, Raymond." She begged, bucking her hips forward, soft needy pants pulsing from her lungs.

"Such a naughty request from someone so sweet." He replied, kissing her cheeks before moving to her mouth, sliding his wet tongue seductively between her lips.

Rosalie moaned throatily, "You aren't dealing with my sweet side." She insisted once he released her mouth.

"No?" Red beamed cheekily at her, inching forward in a slow, deep movement. "Which of your many sides am I playing with, my dear?"

"The wanton one," she growled, trying like hell to establish a satisfying rhythm.

A warm, boyish grin lit the man's features, "Oh, I like her. She's an ill-behaved little minx who likes to torment me."

"If you don't satisfy this ache, she's going to be the one tormenting you right into the mile high club, mid-flight, security be damned." She retorted, squealing when Red thrust deep, only to return to his disciplined tempo a second later.

"Is that so?" He growled, rocking in an agonizingly slow pace. "My God, I had no idea you had exhibitionist tendencies."

"Says the man who pinned me to every window in this house." Rosalie quipped right back, impishly reminding him of his own proclivities.

"Yes I did." Red agreed unabashedly, recalling each of those couplings with an overwhelming fondness, "How could I resist? I had the opportunity to take you in a _deeply _compromising fashion without truly compromising you…" His eyes trekked lasciviously down her naked frame. "I have no desire to let anyone see you in such a beautiful, vulnerable state. Those moments are for my eyes alone."

Rosalie felt a burning affection for the man flood her chest. It meant a great deal for her to know he respected their right to privacy, more importantly, to know he considered their lovemaking sacred, something not meant to be bandied about or shared with others.

"Is this the part where I find out you have a fetish for getting caught mid-act by security?" He joked, drawing Rosalie out of her besotted train of thought.

She had nearly forgotten about Dembe and Horace, rather preferring to keep them _out _of this particular fantasy, thank you very much. "No, we'll just the boys a time out with Edward. Put your tie on the doorknob." She remedied with a mischievous grin, a tinkling laugh escaping her.

The action made the tight tunnel of her sex ripple mercilessly around Red's shaft.

The man groaned a helpless moan of delight, "_ Christ _, it's intense when you giggle." He gasped, easing the ache in his member by thrusting a bit deeper into the fluttering warmth.

"How would you do it?" Rosalie breathed against his ear, "Would you bend me over the desk in your office?" Her voice was thoughtful, painting the erotic image for him, her lips brushing periodically against his hypersensitive flesh.

"I bet it would be terribly fun, wouldn't it? You'd have to put your hand over my mouth, though, you know I'm not a quiet lover." She giggled in a silky purr.

"Thank God for that," grunted Raymond, establishing the rhythm they needed for an earth-shattering orgasm. He very much preferred a vocal lover, and Rosalie had been thoroughly satisfying in that regard from the start of their relationship. "Keep going." He fairly demanded, lost in the delectable imagery she was conjuring and the wet slide of his shaft deep inside her.

"I can just see these big, warm hands of yours." Rosalie cooed, wriggling her slender digits, bringing his attention to where he held her. "Tugging my skirt up over my backside, eager to see if I've even bothered to wear panties."

"_ Shit _," husked Red, thrusting into her with abandon.

"I'll probably wear them, knowing your penchant for stealing such things." She teased playfully, kissing his neck and releasing a needy little moan as his cock stroked her rhythmically.

"You'd like it if I stole them." He countered, "I bet I could get you to ask me, _ever so nicely _, to take them from you." Raymond purred, making his lover quiver from head to toe.

Rosalie nodded feverishly, knowing he could bring her to such a state with little effort.

"You could. You'd like carrying the little piece of lace around in your jacket pocket." She murmured knowingly with a pointed, clever glint in her eyes. Her whole body shivered with pleasure at her next statement.

"You'd enjoy it even more being the only one knowing I'm wandering about your plane _perfectly bare and freshly fucked _."

Rosalie bit her lip mischievously, placing an impish peck to the man's cheek as he snarled his involvement. She had struck the necessary chord to bring him to his breaking point, and she damn well knew it.

Raymond moved forcefully against his lover, burying his throbbing shaft mercilessly in her fluttering depths. Dipping his hips just right, he dragged the fat length along her clitoris, giving the woman the jolt she needed to grip him like a vice.

A feminine cry clawed its way out of Rosalie, her body bowing with her release, clenching greedily around the powerful cock driving endlessly into her. "_ Raymond _," she gasped, "I'm-" her breath hitched, " _Oh, I'm coming _."

The whimper which quavered from her throat tugged the man along with her, his body relenting to the incredible embrace of her tight nirvana.

"_ Jesus _, Rosalie," Red gasped and shuddered, riding out the wonderful high as deep, rumbling moans of ecstasy were coaxed from his mouth. His thrusts slowed minutely as his heavy orgasm pulsed into the waiting warmth, the silky passage milking every last drop into the latex sheath. " _So. Fucking. Good. _" Raymond panted, punctuating each word with a shallow thrust, easing the last ripples of his release into oblivion.

Exhausted, the man burrowed into Rosalie's waiting arms, nearly purring as she immediately set her fingertips to carding through his hair and stroking his back and shoulders soothingly.

She felt his warm, ragged breath in the crook of her neck, a deeply soothing sensation. "I adore you," she whispered, unable to hold back the admission.

Red smiled softly to himself, kissing the woman's neck before smoothing his palms along her curves, quieting her racing pulse as well as his own. "The feeling is very much mutual, my dear." He assured, tilting his head up to caress her lips with his own.

Raymond had thankfully taken on the duty of making breakfast for them as Rosalie set her associates to readying their next location. In a rare stroke of coincidence, a bit of business in Hong Kong was necessary for both Raymond and Rosalie.

Raymond had a deal lingering in the ether with a rather persnickety arms dealer named Mengfu, who was irritably digging his heels in. The man was unwilling to move Red's product further without meeting Reddington in person. Red had rolled his eyes at this, agreeing and setting their movements in play.

Rosalie was bent on securing another penthouse in their short stay, two if she could manage it. The burgeoning locale was a hot bed now the British monarchy had relinquished the city back to the People's Republic of China. There was a great deal of money to be made in a place like Hong Kong, and the woman was determined not to leave revenue lying on the table.

The next three days would be extremely busy for both, but they were truthfully, looking forward to getting back into their usual rhythm.

Packing their belongings should have been a rather dull affair, but Raymond and Rosalie found themselves making lighthearted fun of the mundane process.

A playful goose here, an affectionate peck there, they were bound to forget half their belongings, but at least their spirits were high.

When Horace and Dembe were an hour out, Rosalie made her way to the master bath, showering leisurely before applying a bit of makeup and meandering back upstairs.

She was immediately confronted by a wily looking fugitive, his sudden appearance setting her to giggling.

"Yes?" She asked innocently, the fluffy towel she had wrapped around her leaving little to the imagination. The corner of the plush linen was tucked in the cleft between her breasts, accentuating the full bust, much to Raymond's distraction.

"Aren't you supposed to be dressed by now?" He chastised, feeling the appendage between his legs pulse excitedly at how little it would take to leave her naked before him.

"Aren't _you _supposed to be showering?" She countered slyly, a lone brow raising questioningly in his direction

"I was going to join you, but alas, you're no longer wet." He retorted, gesturing grumpily at her towel.

"Now who said I wasn't _wet _?" She intoned, holding his gaze with one of utmost innocence.

Raymond certainly couldn't tolerate such cheek from someone so scantily clad.

"Come here, you little minx." He growled, snatching at the woman's towel.

Rosalie laughed gaily, scrambling just out of his grasp, "I'm supposed to be getting dressed, remember ? I'm terribly busy at the moment."

"Busy being a tease." He accused, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms just once more before their security arrived. "Besides, I think you'll find the task rather difficult." Red insisted, eyeing her figure with interest.

Rosalie's mouth dropped open in indignation. "What did you do?"

"I'm a criminal, my dear," the man sauntered toward her with all the confidence of a bantam cock, "I'm not saying I had a hand in it, but _someone _absconded with every last stitch of those garments you left hanging in the master closet."

The man was blatantly improvising, but he figured she couldn't call his bluff as long as he kept her out of the bedroom.

The woman narrowed her eyes playfully, "Oh dear, what will it cost for you to return said items?" She questioned, allowing the fluffy towel to slip a few inches down, baring the tops of her full breasts to the man's attention.

"Well, _as I previously indicated, _" he affected a tone of distinct peevishness, "I'm not saying it _was _me, but I may have information I could be persuaded to part with regarding said petty theft."

Rosalie shook her head in amusement, a broad grin commandeering her features. "In exchange?"

"I would require chocolates, a rather rare Hank Mobley record," his expression turned wistful, "and another round of stolen cigars from Fidel Castro, if you please."

"Hmmm…your price is pretty steep, and I'm fresh out of chocolates." She wrinkled her nose, turning toward the bedroom. Her towel fell to the floor with a soft _thump _, giving him a lovely view of her tight backside.

"I guess I'll just have to fly naked then."

Red watched the bare hips sway this way and that as Rosalie walked across the living room. She turned coyly over her shoulder, "I don't suppose you've seen my cashmere robe, either? It's going to be a tad chilly outside."

The man shook his head, his face the epitome of nonchalant, though truth be told, he was barely holding himself in check.

"Ah well," she shrugged, making her way to the bedroom. Something told her she would find her attire safe and sound exactly where she left it.

Rosalie hardly made it another step before a pair of warm, masculine arms wrapped around her, lifting her momentarily off the ground.

The woman squealed, wriggling helplessly in Red's strong grip.

His lips sought her neck, chuckling playfully in her ear. "I suppose I could be persuaded to accept sexual favors in lieu of payment."

Rosalie cackled with laughter, ceasing her squirming. "Oh you're _ever so generous. _" She replied scathingly, before her curiosity got the better of her. "...What kind of sexual favors?"

Raymond smirked, nipping the woman's earlobe and pulling her into his lap in one of the wingback armchairs.

Rosalie settled against his chest, leaning so her head rested on his shoulder. One of her hands reached up to card through his short hair, the other rested atop his arm, which was wrapped securely around her waist.

"Aren't we supposed to be settling down and getting dressed?" She accused, thinking it would be a poor greeting for their bodyguards to find them mid-coitous.

"We will, after a brief interlude." Assured Raymond, trailing warm, wet kisses along her breast before capturing her chilled nipple in his scorching mouth.

Rosalie moaned, arching into the delectable pull of his tongue and teeth, her entire frame relaxing into his ministrations.

"I take that to mean you are content to indulge me in one more little idiosyncrasy?"

The woman gasped when his warm hands cupped the backs of her knees, draping one of her toned legs over each of the chair's arms, spreading her wide for what he had planned. A delicious little whine was pulled from her throat as Red circled his fingertips over her already throbbing sex.

"I want an answer, little dove." He purred darkly, reaching to pluck at the opposite nipple with his right hand.

"_ Yes _," she hissed, bowing into his touch with obvious pleasure. "Yes, Raymond."

A deep, warm chuckle vibrated against her back, adding to Rosalie's excitement.

"_Good girl_."

Something about the phrase made Rosalie shiver, a sensation which was heightened tenfold as she heard the familiar sound of Raymond's belt buckle being disengaged.

It was nearly noon when a chime rang throughout the tower, alerting the couple to the presence of others on the property. With a low murmur of dissension, they disengaged from their cuddling session on the plush sofa.

Raymond was back in his three-piece suit, his sunglasses and fedora waiting patiently on the coffee table. The stormy grey color looked good on him, pairing beautifully with the crisp white shirt and bold geometric tie, which Rosalie straightened for him before ascending from the sofa.

The woman was once again in a smart pencil skirt and comfortable pumps. The chocolate brown wool skirt was warm and decadent, contrasting nicely with the pale taupe of her cashmere blouse. The overall effect was timeless and incredibly flattering to her figure.

They moved sedately toward the stairs, descending the polished steps without a word.

Red had turned introspective as they'd lay curled together in those final minutes of freedom. The weight of a new relationship in their tumultuous world had made itself known. The man had realized with a jolt, it'd been years since he'd been this happy. Raymond had been content, certainly, and on occasion his life had been great fun, but he now realized general contentment and bone-deep happiness felt quite different.

Rosalie made him very happy, and he didn't have to ask to know she felt the same way. The radiant smiles and laughter which poured from her being when they were together were ample evidence of her happiness.

He was determined to keep this joyous corner of their world, this one untarnished haven in which they could both retreat.

As the pair reached the base of the stairs, Raymond turned, grasping his lover tightly. Cradling Rosalie's face in his hands, he searched her eyes. He was desperate to convey what needed to be said. They would be okay, there would be time for them, he would make absolutely certain of it.

He found the grey orbs bright with affection and just a dash of excitement.

"_ Us _." She whispered, placing a gentle hand to his chest. "All that matters is this, right here." She kissed him soundly, driving the point home. "We will learn, we will botch the job on occasion, but we will make this work for _us _." She promised, beaming confidently up at him.

A soft smile tugged at Red's lips, and he leaned forward, kissing her passionately as he guided them toward the front door. When his hand met the polished brass handle, he released her mouth, resting his forehead against hers for a beat.

Rosalie crinkled her nose and grinned, swiping a smudge of lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

"_ Us _." He agreed, throwing the door open wide.

Dembe and Horace stood waiting on the threshold with completely different expressions on their faces.

Dembe was serene as always, though fighting a losing battle with a broad grin. He had thoroughly enjoyed his role in bringing Raymond and Rosalie together, and was terribly pleased at the obvious connection which now radiated from them.

Horace, on the other hand, looked like the kid who didn't get what the wanted for Christmas but was still trying to be polite about it.

"My god, did the two of you do _anything _but have sex all week?" The surly bodyguard whinged in disgust, ascending the staircase from the en-suite. He had happened upon the waste bin in the bath, which turned out to be rather incriminating.

Raymond and Rosalie sat across from each other, looking at one another with matching expressions of heated smugness.

The group had settled in the living area, enjoying a cup of tea and hearing what Dembe and Horace got up to in their absence.

"Stratos send his regards," Dembe inclined his head toward Raymond, carefully gliding over Horace's outburst. "He needed to stay and finalize the changes to the shipping routes in Athens, but he will meet us in Sri Lanka in the spring. He hopes you had a relaxing getaway."

Red nodded, catching the spark of mischief in Dembe's smile. Stratos no doubt said something a scant more colorful, which Raymond would hear later when other ears weren't present.

Rosalie watched their silent communication, quirking a lone brow at the two. The young woman's cheeks glowed a vivid pink as her mind unhelpfully supplied a reminder regarding the particularly spirited coupling which occurred in the wingback chair Red was now occupying.

The man caught her blush and seemed to read her mind, dragging his fingertips along the supple leather of the arms where her legs had been draped a mere hour ago, his gaze never leaving hers. The green eyes darkened, his head tilted, an eyebrow lifted suggestively.

Rosalie swallowed thickly around a mouthful of piping hot Darjeeling. "Do we have to leave?" She questioned in a quiet voice.

Raymond winked playfully at her, his expression bearing a wealth of risqué promises.

Dembe grinned slyly, watching the exchange and sipping his own beverage regally. "You both look quite well rested. I take it you slept soundly?" He asked innocently, perfectly concealing his amusement in his teacup.

Raymond flashed a wolfish grin at his friend, knowing full well what he was playing at.

"Hardly left the bed." He intoned, rather lasciviously.

Horace rolled his eyes, leaning one hand on the kitchen island's marble top.

Rosalie beamed at Red and Dembe before adding an innocuous, "Horace, dear, could you make a note in my construction folio? I would like all the countertops remodeled to be the same height as these." Her dark eyes traveled pointedly to the counters and then to Raymond, offering a solicitous wink.

Red struggled not to snort with laughter as the Egyptian pulled his hand back from the surface as though he'd been scalded. "Got it, boss." He murmured in a tone of deep revulsion.

Rosalie shook her head for his petulant manner, standing to bring their cups to the kitchen sink. "Well, shall we?"

There was a soft murmur of agreement, followed by the movement of several feet.

Horace was the first into the stairwell, not waiting for the others to follow.

Raymond took a couple steps, waiting for his companion, who made a beeline for Dembe.

The young man looked taken aback as the blonde threw her arms around his broad shoulders.

"I can't thank you enough for your hand in this, sweetheart." She whispered in his ear, "This time together meant the world to both of us."

Red grinned as he watched the scene play out, hearing the muffled thank you the woman whispered in the other man's ear, his heart skipping a beat at the endearment she used.

A bright smile lit Dembe's features as he returned the affection, squeezing the woman tightly and telling her it was no trouble at all.

Rosalie placed a gentle kiss to her friend's cheek before striding toward Raymond, happily taking his warm hand in hers.

They had been in the air only twenty minutes when the innkeeper had reached her limit.

"If you have something to say, Horace, I suggest you spit it out." She snapped heatedly, "I'm not enduring another fourteen hours of this."

The sullen bodyguard whipped around his beetle black eyes narrowed peevishly, "You owe me an apology."

"_For what _?" Rosalie balked incredulously.

Red and Dembe sat in their usual seats watching the drama unfold. Both had been aware of the bodyguard's sour mood, and had remained in the main cabin to ensure Rosalie wasn't subjected to a lecture for the shenanigans they had planned.

"For not keeping me in the loop and just traipsing off without security. Yet again!" Horace retorted peevishly, his arms crossed in a huff.

"I'm sorry, I don't see the problem here." Rosalie sighed, snapping her book closed. "We were perfectly safe, you saw the tower, it's literally a stronghold, we could have held out there for a month and not have a problem."

"The problem?" snapped Horace, "You disappeared!"

Rosalie shrugged her shoulders, "To be fair, I didn't know. I was merely a participant."

Raymond cleared his throat, doling out a rather pointed look in her direction.

"I was merely a very willing participant." Rosalie amended immediately, garnering a snort of amusement from Dembe.

"There seemed to be some fun going on, so I just went with it. Really, Horace, at best, I was an accomplice." She turned to her companion in a stage whisper, "What would I get for being your accomplice?"

Raymond grinned impishly, leaning toward her in a conspiratorial manner. "From the Federal Justice System...fifteen years?" A cheeky smirk tugged at his mouth, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "From _me _?...A nice firm hand across your-"

"Do NOT finish that sentence!" Bellowed Horace, utterly beside himself.

Rosalie couldn't help but giggle softly, having entirely too much fun at her guard's expense.

"Oh it's funny now, just you wait," warned Horace in a snarl, "Florian is going to have both your heads."

"_Excuse_ _me_?" Asked Rosalie, her tone immediately sharpening.

"Yeah," growled her guard, "Florian knows. When I thought you were being chased all over Athens by hostiles, I contacted him, as per your breach instructions."

The young woman's mouth was agape, "You didn't." She breathed, eyes going wide.

"Oh he most certainly did, Fille." Florian's deep, sullen drawl rumbled from the door to the plane's office.

Rosalie's eyes closed and her lips pursed when she heard the sound.

"_ Shit _."

"What are you _thinking _, Rosalie?" Florian questioned in a whispered hiss. "All of this time, all of the work you have put into your empire, and you are going to throw it away to be with Raymond Reddington."

The woman's father figure had demanded to speak with her privately, tugging her into the private office without so much as a glance at Reddington.

"I thought you had no objections to Raymond, you said it yourself back in Bulgaria. You said as much as a criminal can be a gentleman, so he is." Rosalie accused, her roaring temper firing up at once. "What possibly could have changed?"

"I said I had no objections to you working with the man." Corrected the old mobster staunchly, "I never expected you to fall into bed with him. Really, Rosalie, what has gotten into you?"

The woman's cheeks flushed despite her best efforts, confirming she and Raymond had become intimately acquainted. "How is pursuing a romantic relationship tantamount to me throwing my empire away?" She fought back, shifting the conversation away from her sex life.

"You have love in you, Rosalie." Florian reminded, his voice despondent, "A love you once held most covetously. People know this, can sense it in you. It makes them think you are soft, vulnerable. It beckons to our criminal brethren. Many want it. The possibility of touching it, feeling it, basking in all that is a whole and untarnished human being is too good an opportunity to pass up. Even more wish to snuff it out. They hate the knowledge there are still criminals in our world not as broken and tainted as them."

"There is nothing about me I don't hold covetously, Florian," murmured Rosalie in a deadly purr, "and, do you honestly think Raymond is _either _side of that coin?"

"You don't know him, Rosalie, no one can truly-" he began, but the woman cut across him.

"I know him." She insisted, rather offended he thought her so short-sighted and naïve.

"Mon Tresor, I want you to be happy, I do, but not like this. Not with him. Do you have any idea what you've walked into?"

"I find your question an insult to my intelligence. I know better than anyone what I've walked into, _Pére _, I've spent nearly every waking moment with the man for the past year. Every. waking. moment. If he were more nefarious, if he had ill intent with me of any kind, I would have found out by now. He would have made a mistake in this amount of time, there would have been a red flag, a warning sign, _something _, and yet there has been absolutely _nothing _!"

The young woman stood from her chair, digging her heels into the carpet and matching Florian's ire ounce for ounce.

Raymond sat glaring pointedly at Horace, who was seated next to another Frenchman with short dark brown hair and vivid green eyes who went by the name of Cedric. Rosalie had been quite peeved at the sight of the younger man and utterly terrorized by the sudden appearance of Florian before being unceremoniously dragged into Red's office.

"This was hardly necessary." He growled at the men, listening to the dull roar of the older mobster's booming voice in the other room, interrupted regularly by his protégé's fiery retorts.

"I was following the protocol my employer instilled." Defended Horace, quite annoyed with the turn of events as well.

"You didn't need to sneak two stowaways on board to berate her at 30,000 feet." Red called him out, "Once Dembe made you aware of the situation, you should have called off the Corsican brigade."

"Florian would have come to investigate regardless. You're lucky he didn't just show up one day while you were in Norway. If you had told me what you were planning this could have all been avoided." The man added, "You can't just run off with her."

"Like hell I can't." Reddington assured, crossing his legs and settling comfortably in his chair. "If that woman and I decide we want to disappear to the goddamn moon for a few weeks there's not a damn thing you or Florian will be able to do about it."

The Egyptian lifted baleful black eyes toward his charge's fugitive boyfriend. "I won't begrudge the two of you your time alone, but next time you need to tell me. It is my job to protect her, and I can't do my job if I don't know what the hell is going on."

The two men sat in an uncomfortable silence, neither willing to admit the other had made a reasonable point.

Dembe simply sat reading his book, occasionally shaking his head ruefully.

Cedric simply watched, eerily quiet and listening intently.

Raymond was just about to argue another point of irritation when the voices in the office reached a volume incapable of being ignored, the conversation descending into rapid, snarling French.

"_You don't get to decide this for me, Florian! _" Rosalie snapped, at her wit's end with this conversation.

"You are coming back to Marseille and this is final! Your network can stand to have you two separated until you get your head on straight, since Reddington can't seem to keep it in his trousers."

"Do not talk about Raymond as though he's some common thug." Rosalie hissed viciously, offended on the man's behalf.

"He is little more than." Barked Florian, his temper getting the better of his tongue.

"You must truly think very little of me, _Pére _." Bit back Rosalie, appalled by the man's response.

"What I think of _him _has nothing to do with what I think of you." He insisted, cheeks flushing minutely.

"It does. If you truly think Raymond Reddington is half as horrible as you are saying he is, what does it say about me, being his lover?"

Florian winced at the word, displeased by the unabashed confirmation of the pair's involvement.

"_ Yes _," Rosalie nodded, "I've taken him as a lover, a confidant, a romantic partner. In every sense of the word. You may not like it, I certainly can't make you accept it, but I can tell you my opinion of Raymond will not change simply because you don't approve. You've made your feelings known, but unfortunately for you they hold no weight in how I live my life. I will not go back to Marseille and I will not walk away from him."

Raymond had quietly opened the door, catching the tail end of their conversation. He fought to keep his features neutral, eventually settling on his usual polite although mischievous smile.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Florian's robust French accent growled the words dangerously.

Any normal criminal would have the common sense to be afraid of Florian Armel, but he supposed Raymond Reddington was not an average criminal. The younger man stood before him supremely unconcerned with the deadly territory he had just waltzed into.

"I believe I'm headed to Hong Kong." Reddington quipped in a tone bordering on nonchalant.

A challenge was being issued with his eyes, however. The young buck was daring Florian to say something, anything about the fact he and Rosalie were obviously an item.

"Little dove, there's a nice big cup of earl grey waiting for you in my usual seat, put a spoonful of that wonderful wildflower honey in it, you've nearly shouted yourself hoarse." He said fondly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, "I'll take up the next round of witty banter in your stead."

Rosalie glanced wide eyed between the two formidable men. She did not want Raymond fighting her battles for her. She nearly said so when the man's flashing green eyes met hers meaningfully, willing her to trust him in this instance.

Reluctantly, she nodded, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before striding from the room.

When the door closed with a snap behind her, the younger criminal turned, suddenly much more foreboding than he had been moments earlier, to the only remaining person in the room. "My father considered himself a bit of a disciplinarian." He began, setting the stage for one of his parables. "He was a robust man, I always felt him akin to that old cartoon character Bluto. He was who he was, so at least we were never taken by surprise when he acted the part of a complete bastard." Clever green eyes swiveled to stare down Florian's icy blues, "You, on the other hand, have come as quite a surprise."

"Do you have any idea what kind of danger you're in, _boy _?" The Frenchman snarled, "You have overstepped. You have tread into my world and I do not take kindly to anyone breaching my boundaries, especially when it is a member of my family they seek."

"Make no mistake, Florian, I know exactly what lines I've crossed and whose toes I've stepped on." Red's voice dropped to a deadly rumble, "I wouldn't have tipped your canoe if I wasn't confident me and mine would stay dry."

"You're certain of that fact?" The old mobster's tone was incredulous.

Raymond smiled benignly, "Few things in life are certain Florian, but this, you can hang your hat on," he quipped, setting his fedora carefully on his knee. "I am no one's '_ boy _.' You are _done _berating Rosalie for choosing what makes her happy."

"She is too young, she doesn't know what she wants, what she needs." Insisted the older man, admittedly grasping at straws now.

Raymond shook his head, "Rosalie is a capable, formidable woman, Florian." He reminded, ensuring not a drop of lasciviousness dripped into his voice. "She is perfectly able to date whomever she pleases, and you should give her more credit than this. Do you honestly think I haven't been vetted against her own standards for a romantic partner?" Raymond found himself offended on her behalf, "If something about me had triggered any concerns for her, any at all, there's no doubt in my mind she would have turned me away. Yet here we are."

"How long has this farce been going on?" Florian asked, the betrayal evident on his face.

"Don't call my relationship with her a farce." Raymond growled.

Florian scowled heatedly, "_ Relationship _? You think this is a _relationship _you've entered into with her?"

"It sure as hell isn't a one-night stand." He spat, "Rosalie and I are dating, Florian, and your disapproval isn't going to change things. You can demand to speak with her, you can shut me out of the conversation and you can even blame me for your discontent for all I care." He conceded flatly, glowering at the other man. "However, you _will not _berate or belittle that woman in my presence or anyone else's again. Should you do so, I'll have no qualms about bouncing you from my plane at the nearest broken down dirt patch calling itself an airstrip and ask for her forgiveness later."

Florian's mouth closed with a snap. He had not realized how angry he had become while speaking to his young protégée. The older man suddenly felt a tad abashed.

"Considering how much Rosalie cares for you, I will instead drop you off at a lovely little airport just east of Helsinki. We will need to stop and refuel for our next leg, so the timing is perfect." Raymond stood, "I'm going back to the main cabin, if you choose to join us, I expect you to keep a civil tongue in your head."

The young criminal straightened his suit, giving Florian a curt nod before striding purposefully from the room.

They did indeed make a quick stop near Helsinki to refuel for the main leg of their journey and to drop off Florian and Cedric. The older Frenchman sat swirling his drink as they taxied, and disembarked without so much as a word or a glance at the lot of them.

Rosalie had watched the plane's door slam behind him, flinching at the noise as though she'd been slapped in the face.

Raymond watched her carefully, waiting for her to find her voice.

The lithe figure stood, making herself a drink before stepping into Red's office.

The man mirrored her movements, closing the heavy door to give them a moment's privacy.

Rosalie rested her backside against the edge of the desk, staring moodily at the man's empty chair. "That couldn't have gone more poorly." She sighed, taking a long sip of her gin.

"Oh, I don't know," murmured Red, taking the seat in front of her and resting his warm hand on her knee. "He could have caught me bending you over this particular piece of furniture." His knuckles rapped the hard surface, a wry smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Rosalie couldn't help a reluctant snigger. She rose only to settle again in the man's lap, burrowing her face in his neck and wrapping her arms around him.

"That… is definitely true." She conceded in a muffled voice.

Raymond set his drink aside, squeezing the woman in a tight embrace. "I know it wasn't how we had planned to let him know, but now at least he can start coming to terms with it."

Rosalie sighed heavily, "_ If _, he comes to terms with it. I was rather pointed with the man. He definitely didn't appreciate it."

"You handled him well." Insisted Red, having caught a fair bit of their argument through the door.

"Not well enough to keep you out of the fray." She needled playfully, lifting her head to cast a sly glance at him.

The man shrugged, "How a man speaks to a woman says a great deal about that man. What a man allows to be said to a woman in his presence is just as telling. I was not about to tolerate Florian bellowing at you like you were some rebellious teenager."

Rosalie kissed his cheek, appreciative of his reasonings for intervening on her behalf. "Such moves will garner you Marietta's undying affection." She tittered fondly.

"I've already absconded with the man's daughter, I think I'd be pushing my luck to turn my charms toward his wife." Raymond crooned mischievously. "He very well might try to kill me."

Rosalie wrinkled her nose adorably, "Ew. New subject."

Raymond let out a hearty laugh, tucking another curl behind her ear. "Very well, where are we staying in Hong Kong, then?"

"The Peninsula." Rosalie inclined her head toward the glossy black folio sitting on the desk, showing a gleaming building and an opulent living room.

"Tell me you don't own the penthouse." Questioned Red, utter disbelief etched in his expression. The Peninsula Hotel was a long-standing icon of luxurious accommodations in Hong Kong.

"Not outright, no. I have contracts in place with the top three luxury hotels in Hong Kong and Beijing. I take on the upkeep of their penthouses and they conveniently look the other way as top tier criminals wander into their lobbies. They get a cut of the client's stay but only ever do business with me, ensuring I take on all the risk. In the unlikely event a client is found and arrested, they can plead ignorance and point the finger at my organization, which of course, doesn't exist."

"What's their cut?" He asked, thoroughly intrigued.

"According to the contract? 60/40."

Red flashed a mischievous grin, "What's the actual split?"

"After my upkeep and network security fees, it's more like 80/20." Murmured Rosalie in an undertone.

Red chuckled dryly, "My, my, you _are _a little racketeer, aren't you?"

The long flight passed quietly and without incident. The exhausted group mostly used the time to catch up on some much needed sleep. Dembe and Horace dozed in their usual seats while Raymond and Rosalie were nestled in the nearby loveseat.

The pair passed the hours quietly, drifting in and out of sleep and occasionally murmuring to one another in soft whispers. They had needed the closeness and simple intimacy after their altercation with Florian. They soothed and assured each other with gentle words and comforting caresses.

They thankfully landed in the dead of night, allowing the jet's occupants to head straight for their lodgings to bathe and catch a few more hours of sleep.

The glimmering skyline of Hong Kong was partially obscured by a dreary haze, casting a drowsy, jet-lagged pall over the car's occupants even as they pulled up to the shining exterior of the Peninsula on high alert. Ted Beaumont was waiting for them, having already done a preliminary sweep of the building. It was not usual for their little group to be in a location with other people, and they therefore took several extra precautions.

Seeking to remain as inconspicuous as possible, they moved quickly and quietly toward the elevators upon reaching the hotel's resplendent lobby.

With Red's fedora pulled low and Rosalie's face hidden by an intricate fan, they stealthily made their way into the penthouse elevator. The young innkeeper already had a copy of the necessary keys so they needn't bother with the front desk. The elevator door had nearly closed when a large hand jutted into the space, stopping the group from making their escape.

Rosalie sighed her annoyance as a suave-looking fellow in a pale grey suit appeared in the re-opening doorway, stepping inside and allowing the doors to close.

"Welcome back, Ms. Øllegaard, we've been expecting you." He glanced surreptitiously at the woman while she neatly folded her fan.

"No problems, I trust?" She asked, keeping her expression schooled and the man's attention off of Raymond.

"None at all, madam." He nodded, stepping out to guide them into the magnificent apartment.

Raymond and Dembe settled into the penthouse as Rosalie dealt with the man who turned out to be the hotel's manager. Horace and Ted lingered in the background like vigilant sentinels, neither seemed to be fond of the man.

Red watched the woman go about running her empire, his seat in the lounge providing the perfect vantage point into the parlor where she stood talking.

She handled the manager with kid gloves, allowing her warmth and vivacity to soothe and bend his will to her own. Rosalie was tactful, calculated in her dealing, her focus not faltering once from the man before her. Raymond found the entire setup of her Hong Kong operations immensely interesting. The woman could very well have bought or booked the penthouses in perpetuity, but instead she kept the hotels in on the deal. It was rather clever, really. By keeping the middle man in on her shenanigans, she gave the companies and men like this incentive not to rat out her clientele.

By the end of their lengthy conversation, the manager was in a boisterously good mood, apparently quite thrilled for them to be there.

Rosalie nodded and smiled brightly, finally coaxing him out of the suite and back down to his office. She slumped against the door with an exasperated sigh when she was finally rid of him, making Red chuckle. Her dark eyes turned and winked at him before she set about her nightly routine.

While Rosalie was occupied, Raymond stepped into the kitchen grabbing a beer before setting out to locate the woman's security.

Horace was fastidiously unpacking, seemingly intent on getting to sleep as soon as possible.

Red knocked on the door frame, silently requesting to enter.

The Egyptian nodded stoically, gesturing him into the room.

The fugitive held out the cold bottle of the other man's preferred beer. "You were right." He murmured, willing the bodyguard to take the drink.

"About what?" Horace questioned, eyeing the beverage warily.

"If I were going to poison you, I wouldn't do it myself when we're alone in a secure safehouse. I have people for that sort of thing." He reasoned, wiggling the bottle at the serious man until he finally took it.

"I should have included you in my plans for taking Rosalie to Norway." Admitted Red, only a little begrudgingly. "Your job is to protect her and it is extremely important to me that you do that job."

Horace sat on the edge of his bed, twisting the top off the bottle and taking a long drink from its contents.

"I could have called off Florian." He conceded, meeting the other man halfway. "I'm happy for you both, really and Rosalie is obviously very happy with you. I just need you to realize her safety must be my number one priority. Even if that means you running your plans by me before absconding with my charge."

"I can live with that criteria, I would expect nothing less from the head of her security." Agreed Raymond, doing his best to bury the hatchet with the man.

"What can I do to help set things right?" Horace asked, glancing down the hall as his charge headed for the penthouse's kitchen. "I didn't mean for Florian to react the way he did. He was harder on her than was strictly necessary."

Red looked thoughtfully after the woman as well, an idea coming readily to mind. "Do you know how I can reach the Armel's?"

Rosalie was sitting atop the kitchen counter minutes later with a small pint of lemon sorbet and a spoon. "My body has no clue what time it is." She confided, hearing familiar footsteps wandering into the kitchen.

Raymond stole a spoonful of her confection with a wink before silently pressing a satellite phone into her hand.

Rosalie looked curiously at the object as the man placed his lips to her temple and strode from the room.

Rosalie watched him go, lifting the receiver to her ear. "Hello?"

"_Bon Soir, Mon Fille. _" Came the warm, gentle voice of Marietta Armel.

"_Bon Soir, Mamon _." Rosalie immediately sniffled, surprised to say the least.

"Don't listen to this grumpy old buffer." She quipped dryly, scowling at her husband who was seated across the room. Her heart ached when not so much as a titter came through the other line.

"_Pére_ is so disappointed," Rosalie whispered in a small voice. She hated being at odds with the man.

"_C'est un peste _, and he _will _get over it." Stated Marietta matter-of-factly, receiving a look of indignation from the man. "If he does not, I will slap him around."

The mental image brought a soft smile to Rosalie's lips. "Oh, _Mamon_, what issue could he possibly have with Raymond? He does business with the man for God's sake. Up until that whole mess in Munich, Florian had absolutely adored him."

Marietta smiled wryly, placing a hand to her husband's cheek, "You are the closest thing we have ever had to a child, _mon rose sauvage _. Secretly, I think he believes no man will ever be good enough."

The icy blue eyes misted the man's frustration, a curt nod confirming his wife's assessment of the matter.

"I can't stand them being at odds." Admitted Rosalie, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

"They won't be for long, Florian will give up his tirade just as quickly as he took it up."

The man in question crossed his arms rather petulantly.

"He just needed to make his displeasure known. Tell Mamon, how long has this been going on?"

"A week," Rosalie answered honestly, "though _he _didn't believe me when I told him so."

"_Non _? Well, I suppose not, he mentioned the two of you were cozy at Marcello's, but who am I to judge, if you say it has been only a week, I believe you."

Florian shook his head minutely, disbelief etched in his features.

"What brought this all about? _Pére_ mentioned something about you disappearing."

"Raymond took us on a little getaway." Rosalie confessed, an unavoidable smile tugging at her lips. "You know how difficult it is to get a moment alone when you have around the clock security."

Marietta laughed a throaty, genuine laugh. "I certainly do, I take it he took you to one of your secure sites?"

The older woman would be lying if she said she didn't want to hear every last detail, with her younger years now firmly behind her, it was always thrilling to hear the wild tales of young love. A joyous sigh poured through the other line, making Marietta's features brighten considerably.

"He took me to the tower in Norway." Rosalie confided, "It was spectacular, _Mamon _, we were completely safe, comfortable, and perfectly alone."

The old Frenchwoman was nodding her approval, "You would not be with Reddington if he was not a good man. I have taught you too well in this regard. Florian seems to have forgotten he wasn't the _only_ _one_ teaching you a few tricks." Her tone turned a hair chastising while recollection dawned on her husband's face.

Rosalie had been taught the perilous art of tangoing with criminal men by Marietta herself, and the older woman damn well knew what she was doing.

"_Raymond sounds like a perfect gentleman. _" The woman continued in a carefree voice while her sharp hazel eyes held her husband in a vice grip.

The fight left Florian almost immediately, his head nodding reluctantly. He stood from his seat, kissing the fiery love of his life on the temple before heading to his office for a drink to salve his wounds.

Marietta watched him go, blowing a kiss to him as he turned to leave.

Meanwhile, Rosalie's thoughts were firmly fixed on the man down the hall. "He is a gentleman, and a good man. He's clever, kind, someone I can easily trust with my life."

"Good." Sighed Marietta, her relief evident.

"What do I do, _Mamon_?" Asked Rosalie, feeling very much like a child in that moment.

"_Go _, enjoy your lover." She retorted mischievously, "Bask in his attention, his affection, and return it tenfold. He is the one who called _me _, after all. He was worried for your happiness after all that transpired. I like that in a man. Florian is old and soft," She insisted quite fondly, "he will sort himself out or I will do it for him. For now, my dear, simply enjoy what life has brought you."

The younger woman beamed a watery smile, "_ Merci, Mamon _."

"_Au revoir, mon fille. _" Marietta murmured, ending the call with a soft _click_.

Rosalie set the phone on the countertop, making her way immediately toward the master bedroom.

She found Raymond seated in one of the comfortable armchairs with a glass of scotch and a questioning expression.

Rosalie perched herself in his lap, draping slender arms around his neck. "You are wonderful," she insisted, kissing him softly on the cheek.

"I take it Marietta managed to talk sense into her husband?" He asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Rosalie crossed her legs, easing the heavy crystal glass from his fingers and stealing a sip. "No," she murmured, "She reminded me Florian's discontent has a notoriously short shelf life, and there was a perfectly lovely gentleman awaiting my attention down the hall."

A genuine smile plucked at Red's lips, "Well, as pleased as I am to have you in my arms, I am sorry Florian is still bent out of shape."

Rosalie carded her fingertips through the man's short hair, as was her custom. "I'm content just as we are. Florian will come around. Until then, I won't be robbed of enjoying your company and showering you with affection."

Raymond breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing fully into his seat as the woman stood, beginning her nightly ritual. "You're sure you're alright?" He asked, seeing the heavy weight pressing on those delicate shoulders.

Rosalie smiled warmly at him, stepping out of her pumps and unzipping her skirt. "I am, though I might need a little cheering up." She admitted honestly, throwing him a playful wink.

"I would offer you gold and rubies, but you don't seem the type." Red joked, standing and swaggering toward her, twirling one of her silky curls around his finger.

Rosalie wrinkled her nose, "You're right, I'm more of a platinum and sapphires kind of girl." She quipped, unaware Raymond was actually making a mental note of her preferences.

"What would you like? Name it and it's yours." He replied immediately, "You will learn, along with panty theft, I also have a penchant for doting rather heavily on those I care for."

"I want more important things than gems and jewelry." Rosalie intoned, discarding her clothing piece by piece.

"Such as?" Raymond pulled her into his arms, needing to feel her warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips.

"I want this spot, right here." Her hand traced the crook of his shoulder, the spot she liked to curl up against when they cuddled.

Red halted his movements, watching the woman nuzzle her cheek into the alcove, greeting it like an old friend.

"I want these," Rosalie trailed warm hands down his masculine arms, paying special attention to where his sleeves were rolled up, giving a peak at his tantalizing forearms, "wrapped around me, at every available opportunity."

"And these," her hands moved down to grasp his, bringing both palms up to her lips. Her fingertips lingered on his trigger finger, feeling the rough callous residing there from years of carrying a weapon. "I want these to touch and tease, to calm and soothe, I want them to pull me close when I get too far for you to reach."

Raymond's eyes glinted their surprise, his mind committing her requests to memory as though they were the only thing in this world worth memorizing. "Anything else?" He whispered, his voice gruff. He hadn't expected her to be so open with him, to make these sweet, genuine requests.

"I want these," she caressed the expanse of his button down, "The moment they leave your frame, they become mine. I like wearing them, and I know you love watching me wander the house in them."

Red chuckled, immediately removing his tie and getting to work on the many buttons standing in her way.

Rosalie assisted, tossing his waistcoat onto the nearby chair.

The man divested himself of the shirt, leaving the sleeves rolled up, and wrangled the beautiful woman into the still warm fabric. He buttoned only two of the buttons, leaving a large swath of her naked torso open to his viewing pleasure.

Rosalie mewed contentedly, burying her nose in the shirt's collar and inhaling deeply.

The action was truthfully adorable, causing Raymond's throat to tighten almost painfully as he watched the tension bleed from her shoulders.

"Tell me what else you want, little dove." He coaxed, clutching the feminine frame flush against him.

Rosalie wriggled a hand between them, bringing it up to the man's cheek. Her thumb dropped to gently trace his lips, " I want these." She purred, tilting her little face upward to gaze ardently at the soft, rosy lips, smiling broadly when the man kissed her thumb in response. "These are mine and mine alone, mine to nip and kiss and part with my tongue." She murmured, leaning in to do just that.

Raymond sighed blissfully, deepening the contact and taking Rosalie with him toward their bed.

They kissed until they were gasping for breath, swaying precariously on the spot and clinging tightly to one another.

"Show me, little dove." Red voiced his insecurity when they finally broke, his hand still cupping her cheek. His breath fanned over the woman's lips, bearing the subtlest hint of his preferred vintage, a scent and flavor Rosalie would forever associate with kissing him.

"Show me nothing's changed now we're boldly out in the light."

Raymond needed to know she was still in this with him, despite Florian's vehement disapproval.

Those gray orbs lifted serenely, unflinching as they met Red's expectant stare. Her dark lashes batted away the mist threatening to overflow, the truth finding its way to the young woman without pause.

Rosalie found the stability she sought in Raymond's broad frame. The cock of his head, the ever so subtle lean of his body to the right, the way he held her close, he soothed her simply by being in the same room.

Nothing had changed for her, not one iota.

Rosalie pulled Red toward her, grasping the back of his neck and tugging him with her onto the bed. Her lips sought the sweet spot beneath his jaw, peppering the hollow of his throat with nips and kisses while she reached to undo his belt buckle.

Raymond grunted his approval, opening further to the affection. "I love when you do that." He purred, grasping her upper arms in a firm but gentle grip.

Rosalie laughed a soft, warm laugh, tugging the heavy leather belt from its loops, tossing it toward the bench at the foot of their bed.

Red growled, pinning his lover's lithe frame harder into the plush surface. He huffed his surprise when Rosalie rolled them both, pinning him so he was laying diagonally across the spacious mattress.

She made quick work of his slacks, unbuttoning them and tugging the fabric down his toned legs. His boxers went the same route, leaving him as naked as she in a matter of seconds.

Rosalie turned her attention toward the rapidly lengthening and thickening appendage between his legs. She trailed soft fingertips along his shaft for several long minutes before taking him fully in hand. Her small fist gripped his length firmly, pumping the rod in a smooth, steady rhythm.

"Oh _God _," husked Red, watching as though in a trance while the beautiful woman kneeling between his knees swirled her hand deftly over his aching head. His cock was rigid and pulsing with a bone-deep need, responding to each and every stroke of her slick grip.

"So hard for me," Rosalie cooed thoughtfully, "I wonder, do other women get you this hot and bothered?"

A smug smirk plucked at Red's mouth, "Already feeling possessive, are we?"

A sharp sting on his right hip made him gasp and chuckle. The little minx below had taken it upon herself to leave a deep red love bite on his skin in retaliation. The sensation enticed, drawing Raymond's attention to the fact Rosalie's warm, wet little mouth was a mere hair's breadth from his shaft.

"You're damn right I'm possessive." She purred darkly, tightening her grip for a few strokes before loosening entirely, her palm just barely skirting the hot surface of the girthy appendage. "Though, it's not like you have a leg to stand on in that department." She reminded, unbuttoning his shirt and glancing pointedly down at her feminine frame, riddled with the fading evidence of Raymond's possessiveness.

The man cocked his head in open appreciation of her nudity and his handiwork, idly thinking he would have to nip a few of those places again, if only to hear those delicious noises she made.

His complete lack of repentance made Rosalie laugh. "Shameless," she chastised.

"Tease." Growled Red, closing his eyes again and lifting instinctively into her touch only to have her release him. The man growled his frustration.

"Don't worry, darling," Rosalie soothed, a hint of a smirk in her voice, "I wouldn't leave you in such a state."

For the second time, he was surprised with a soft little peck to the very tip of his cock.

Rosalie smirked impishly up at him when his eyes flew open at the sensation. "You promised." She reminded, placing a fuller, open-mouthed kiss to the straining shaft.

"_ Shit _." He hissed, watching the action with unbridled delight. "I did promise." Raymond recalled, mouth dropping open in arousal as her little pink tongue flitted over a vein, following the sensitive ridge to the base of his shaft, then back up to the tip.

Rosalie found the sight of him leaning forward, hopeful desire pouring from his features to be rather endearing. "I've been wanting you in my mouth for a very, _very _long time." She confided, blinking sweetly up at his shocked face. It took the woman a great deal of effort not to giggle at his gobsmacked visage.

"You have, have you?" Red rasped in an impossibly deep voice, utterly riveted by the declaration.

"_ Mmhmm _," she hummed, drawing the rounded tip of his erection between, plump, rosy lips.

"Oh, _fuck _me," Husked Raymond, feeling her wet tongue flick playfully across his sensitive head.

"I thought you might like this," she sighed, continuing her sensual play. "I've been wondering if I can make you half as desperate for release as you've made me." She admitted, eyes never leaving her pastime.

"Is there even a question in your mind?" Red grunted, arching to meet her and grasping the sheets in a death grip.

Rosalie knew very well Raymond was unusually prodigious at making her shatter with the slightest touch, therefore there was a question in her mind. The woman couldn't help but wonder if she lived up to his fantasies, too.

"I want to make you come undone." She whispered sincerely, watching entranced as her fingers gapped around his straining girth.

"You are," he assured on the end of a moan, her grip tightening deliciously around him. "God, you're making me loose my mind." He groaned honestly, a shuddering gasp leaving his mouth as Rosalie suckled his cock again, humming contentedly.

"_ Jesus _," the vibration made kaleidoscopic colors dance in Raymond's vision, his body already toying with an excruciating edge. His head fell back, eyes closing to everything but the delectable sensations rippling in waves from his groin.

The talented little tongue trailed the length of his twitching member, flicking and swirling along its surface. Rosalie memorized each reaction Red gave, listening intently for which strokes made him gasp and moan, what touches made his body buckle with pleasure.

Raymond slowly opened his eyes, taking in the incredible show. If his lover was focused when putting her empire to work, it was nothing compared to the way she focused on him now. She watched her movements with intense scrutiny, making the man's dick twitch excitedly.

"I think he likes me." She teased, tracing the pulsing appendage with a lone digit, making Red shiver.

"You're his favorite place to be." Raymond replied lasciviously, earning another love bite on his hip. The sensitive skin tingled pleasantly from Rosalie's rough attention.

The woman giggled before finally taking his rigid length deep into her mouth, garnering his undivided attention once more.

His lover mewed her enjoyment as his turgid shaft slid all the way to meet the back of her throat.

"_Oh_ _fuck_, _Rosalie_." Red panted, working to keep his hips from thrusting into her willing mouth with abandon.

Her suckling made his knees weak. Rosalie was wickedly calculated, alternating between intense suction and soft, barely-there strokes, slowly building the man to a spine tingling peak. She diligently teased the taut skin of his shaft and the swollen bulb of his head without stopping, losing herself to the act of making him climb the walls.

Raymond doubted there was a man alive who could withstand such delectable torture for long. In a matter of minutes, Raymond was arching into her in desperation, hoping for that last little lick to drag him over the edge.

"Please, little dove,"

Rosalie pulled away slightly, flicking her tongue languidly against his testicles, feeling the bundle tighten beneath her assault.

"God_ …damn _!" Raymond snarled when she took him deep into her mouth once more. His forearms braced against the bed, the bottom of his fist connecting with the soft mattress with a despondent thud.

"I need to come." He pleaded, hips rocking into the delectable cavern, feeling her tongue ripple beneath his length.

"Then _come _, Raymond." Rosalie told him, releasing his aching member just long enough to make him moan plaintively.

"I want to come _with _you, _inside _you," he insisted, attempting to pull her from the foot of the bed.

Rosalie lifted reluctantly, placing a gentle hand on Raymond's chest, pushing him to his back on the pristine sheets. "So do I," she assured, returning to her excruciating pastime, "but you promised you'd be a good boy, so you getting between my legs will have to wait until I've thoroughly had my way with you."

"_ Rosalie _," Red all but begged, legs unconsciously spreading to better accommodate her slender frame between them.

A giggle escaped her, "Your body is in agreement with me, darling." She intoned knowingly, not missing the subtle spread of this thighs, the way his hips kept arching into her touch. "Your cock wants to come inside my warm, wet mouth." She stated confidently, licking the man's shaft as though he were a particularly satisfying lollipop.

"_Fuck _, honey, is that what you want?" Red gasped, opening his eyes to watch Rosalie's pouty lips inching slowly down his member.

Those gray eyes scorched him from the inside out as they held his gaze, the soft feminine features of Rosalie Øllegaard nodding innocently up at him. "_ I'm not stopping until you give me what I want, Raymond. _" She purred, her lips releasing his bulging head with an audible pop.

"_Mother of God _," Red husked, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily at the scene.

Rosalie's small fist continued to stroke him, pumping and squeezing the slick rod without stopping.

"Let go, darling," she coaxed sweetly, "Let me make you as wild as you make me."

"Yes." He growled, fisting the sheets beside him as she took him deep into her mouth. The silky waves of honey blonde hair tickled his hips and thighs as Rosalie bobbed steadily on his twitching erection.

She could taste the warm precum beading from his slit with each swipe of her tongue. The taste was enticing, intoxicating, a mix of salty sea, a hint of sweet, and a heady musk that was all Raymond.

Red's entire body was rigid and primed for release, exciting the hell out of his partner. The man's toes had curled and a barrage of ragged groans tumbled low and deep in his broad chest. One of the muscles in his neck bulged with tension, just begging for his lover to nibble her way along it.

"You're going to make me come." Raymond panted brokenly, drawing his lover out of her reverie, finding him watching the arousing show she was performing with undisguised lust.

Rosalie mewled her arousal, writhing her tongue pointedly over his frenulum, pulling a snarl from his open mouth. She sucked hard, taking him to the very hilt and swirling her tongue along his velvety length. She felt the thick shaft flex between her lips, signaling how very close he was. Her small hand reached down to cradle his testicles, rolling the heavy sack with nimble fingers.

"_ Don't stop _, keep- _Fuck _, keep sucking." Red rasped, barely able to choke out the plea as his grip on reality slipped several notches.

To her credit, his lover did not pause, suckling at his rock hard head before taking him deep into her hot little mouth once again.

"_ Shit… _Oh shit…" Red gasped, one of his knees giving an involuntary spasm. The point of no return rapidly bore down on him, his control unraveling before his eyes. Raymond's hips bucked without rhythm, chasing that razor's edge with every fiber of his being.

When Rosalie wriggled her tongue insistently against the underside of his cock, drawing heavily on the twitching member, the man completely lost it.

"_ Rosalie _!" He howled through a guttural moan, " _Fuck…I'm…coming _!" He roared, arching into the delectable slide of her waiting mouth.

Hot, heavy spurts of Raymond's seed pulsed from his throbbing slit deep into his lover's throat, coating the hollow and her tongue with his orgasm.

Rosalie hummed, making the man's eyes roll backward as the soft vibration combined with the swallowing motions the back of her throat made against his hypersensitive head.

"_Christ _, little dove," he moaned, threading his fingers through her long blonde hair, slowing her movements as he shattered into a million pieces. Her touch left him quaking, his body deliriously sensitive and rutting the dying embers of his release into her hot, wet little mouth.

The man's whole body lurched forward when Rosalie drew on him one last time, releasing his spent cock with a husky, feminine moan. "Have I thoroughly convinced you?" She purred in an impossibly warm voice, nuzzling his nose and brushing her lips with his.

"Honey, you have no idea," husked Red, thrilling at the taste of himself on her tongue as she doled out teasing flicks to his mouth.

He had been on the receiving end of some incredible oral sex in his lifetime, but this woman had taken to the task with such sensuality, such desire, the man was a shivering wreck at the moment.

Rosalie, on the other hand, looked like the cat who caught the canary, "I like having my wicked way with you." She tittered, quite pleased with the state of her lover.

"So do I," quipped Raymond, "Should you feel another insatiable urge to have me at your mercy, I will happily make myself available for more of your methods of persuasion."

"Will you, now?" Rosalie giggled, settling herself on the man's lap. She could feel the heavy appendage beginning to stir beneath her.

"Mhm," he nodded, cupping her cheek and pulling her back to his mouth. "I've spent a very long, tiring day waiting to be alone with you in this room. _Our _room."

Rosalie sighed melodiously, immensely enjoying the words he uttered. This was their room now, their bed. There would be no sneaking back and forth in the early morning light, no more hiding their involvement, a fact for which Rosalie was immensely grateful.

"_Ours _." She agreed, pulling him close.


	21. Learning Curve

An immaculate stone lobby echoed with the steady click of high heels. The stride was smooth and measured, interrupted intermittently by two pairs of heavy footfalls moving in tandem down the hallway. Late morning rays flooded the opulent space, setting the marble to glittering as the trio moved past the array of guests and travelers, bellhops and maids, going about their business.

One pair of lumbering footsteps belonged to a tall, broad, and brooding Horace Asim Jabare.

Horace's dark eyes roamed the corridor as he and his charge were lead toward the rear of the lavish hotel by the building's portly, balding manager.

The bodyguard could all but hear Rosalie's brain hurtling along as she took in the state of the property and formulated a plan for her takeover of the top floors. Having heard of the untimely death of one of the hotel board's more conservative members, Rosalie thought the time was right for another go at securing the penthouses at The Mandarin. The woman's instincts did not lead her astray; their band of criminals had hardly touched down in Hong Kong when the chairman of the board requested a meeting with Rosalie.

It seemed the board was eager to revisit a deal with the young innkeeper, who was more than happy to oblige.

"They are waiting for you in here, Miss." The manager said upon reaching the end of the long hallway. He gestured to a set of heavy, ornate wooden doors with glinting gold handles.

Rosalie thanked the man before grasping the polished metal firmly and throwing the doors wide.

A luxurious boardroom unfurled before her, paneled in rich mahogany and outfitted with cushy leather chairs. The massive table occupying the center of the room was flanked by several older, well-suited men of varying nationalities. Each swiveled in turn to take in the newcomer, a few brows raising in intrigue, others furrowing in suspicion.

"Gentlemen," Rosalie greeted, stepping up to the foot of the table with her hands folded neatly in front of her, ever the picture of gentility. Her voice was warm and welcoming, as though she were hosting a long awaited dinner party.

"I believe we have some business to discuss."

Raymond was trying like hell not to roll his eyes. The tediousness created by what should have been a simple arms deal had gotten blown completely out of proportion by the neediness of the individual sitting in front of him.

"Mengfu, I'm not going to sit here and mollycoddle you into upholding our deal. If you're too lily livered to move the product, fine, but don't sit here and whine about it. My people can step in and take the burden off your hands for a small fee and I can start looking for a supplier with a bit more yǒngqì."

"Raymond," Dembe caught the man's attention, handing him a burner phone.

Red scowled at the thing, confused as to who would be contacting him just now.

"Reddington." The tinny voice of the Seeker flitted through the connection, rousing the fugitive's suspicion further.

"Is there a problem?"

"You had me following Baldur Magnusson," the man reminded, "I thought you might like to know he's just touched down in Hong Kong."

Red was supremely unconcerned with this bit of intel. "Baldur and I often run in the same locales, I'm not concerned just yet. Keep an eye on him and keep me informed if he does anything out of the ordinary." The man on the other end confirmed his understanding before the fugitive ended the call, returning the device to Dembe with a bored sigh.

"My God I forgot how tedious this all is." He grumbled under his breath, making Dembe's lips curl into a soft smile before both men returned their attention to the problem child in the room.

Mengfu was pouting not at all unlike a child in his battered swivel chair. His office wasn't much to look at, but it suited the man's needs admirably. He sat waiting to be acknowledged and reassured by Reddington.

The arms dealer was not a particularly good looking man. He had an unkempt, runty look about him which made him easy to dislike. His scraggly hair and torn jeans clashed quite obviously with the immaculately kept duo on the other side of the desk.

Mengfu's appearance would not be so off-putting if he did not also have a propensity for jerking Raymond around on deals. The dealer was notorious for dragging his feet and making unnecessary difficulties which only served to make Red tense and irritable whenever he needed to deal with the man.

Unfortunately, he was the only dealer in Hong Kong with access to the weapons Red's clients were looking for, so there he sat.

"If you're done sticking your bottom lip out, I need to know what it's going to take for you to move the product through to port in the next twenty-four hours." Raymond rumbled in a deep, bored drawl.

Rosalie was settled into a comfortable seat at the foot of the board room's table directly opposite the chairman of the board.

"We are open to the opportunity of working with you, madam innkeeper-" began one of the elderly board members on her right.

"Please, call me Rosalie." She offered, smiling warmly at the man, who gave a somewhat nervous wiggle in response.

"Ms. Rosalie," He continued, "We are open to the opportunity of working with you and would like to revisit negotiations regarding the penthouses at the Mandarin. However, we are a little concerned about the liability this presents for the business as a whole. As I'm sure you know, we have a great many hotels under our charge, and it is imperative for us to make the best decisions possible for the enterprise as a whole."

"I'm sure you all have your reservations," she soothed expertly, looking to each man in turn. "It is not often you are approached with an open request to engage in a morally ambiguous agreement." Rosalie could tell she had some of them in the palm of her hand, others were skittishly circling, not certain if they were ready to hop in as well. The stench of greed was heavy in the room, and the woman could easily sense which ploy would work most in her favor.

"I can tell you your competitors are quite happy to reap the benefits of their alliances with me." Rosalie mentioned off-handedly, "Top floor penthouses are nothing short of a financial burden. You know this, I know this, they're a hefty cost of doing business in the luxury market. The Mandarin certainly wouldn't be considered an elite hotel without them, and yet you are paying through the teeth to maintain such exclusive spaces which get booked maybe once per month, if at all?"

The men around her nodded ruefully; they were well aware of the losses associated with these expensive rooms. Though they made up some of that cost through their other guests, it didn't change the fact they were bleeding money on the whole.

"With the burgeoning business opportunities sprouting up in Hong Kong, I can promise you the room will never be empty." Rosalie stated boldly, "By having my employees booking the occupants, caring for the space and catering to its clientele, you can claim ignorance should the worst come to pass. The Mandarin would get an untraceable a cut from my client's stay and reprieve from maintenance costs on the penthouses, while I and my team take on all the risk."

A rough-looking man in his mid-70's in a grey pinstriped suit leaned toward the middle of the table, deep brown eyes searching her nervously. "If a client of yours should be caught on premises?" He voiced the question which seemed to be plaguing many members of the board, as a number of the men nodded in solemn agreement.

Rosalie held his gaze admirably, "That has never happened. However, in the highly unlikely event it does, you plead ignorance and pass the buck onto me. The Hong Kong police force would have to catch me in order to try me, which we all know is about as likely to happen as one of you gentlemen giving up your board seat."

There was a murmur of amusement at this, the tension in the room easing a measure.

The chairman of the board took a brief glance around the room, seeming to confer with his colleagues. "I believe we are in agreement. We would like to move forward into negotiations, if you are willing. However, we must put it to a formal vote first."

Rosalie smiled at them all once again and stood. "Not a problem, I will leave my contact information with your manager. When you are prepared to begin, feel free to reach out."

Handshakes were exchanged amid a flurry of discussion as the innkeeper and her guard made their exit.

Back at the arms dealer's safehouse, Mengfu seemed to have a death wish.

Raymond was just considering putting a bullet in the man to cease his endless whining when Dembe stepped forward, placing a phone into his hand and leaning into his ear. "It is Peter again."

Red let out an exasperated sigh and picked up the call. "What is it now?"

The same tinny voice as before echoed through the connection. "I just watched Baldur Magnusson's security snatch your innkeeper from the front doors of the Mandarin."

Raymond's stomach dropped.

"Follow them." He barked, rising immediately from the seat, leaving Mengfu stuttering in his wake. "Don't let her out of your sight."

"I'm already on their tail," he was assured. The Seeker's sharp eyes followed the caravan's progress through several back alleys and side streets.

Mengfu was squalling about the deal, following Reddington and Dembe's swift retreat.

"I'll deal with this later," Red waved his hand carelessly in the arms dealer's general direction, "Something's come up."

Both men slid into the waiting sedan, ignoring Mengfu's shouting and arm waving beside the windows.

Dembe didn't wait for directions, taking off in the direction of the hotel district.

"Talk to me, do you still have eyes on them?" Raymond asked, listening intently for any news.

The sound of a camera shutter could be heard from the line, clicking rapidly.

The Seeker put the vehicle in park, snapping several more shots of the motorcade pulling into the carport of another luxury hotel. "They've just pulled into Hullett House." He informed his employer, snapping a few photos of the woman and her security being led into the hotel lobby.

"They've gone inside, I've lost sight of them."

"Damn," Red swore, his mind rapidly formulating their next steps. "Follow. If anyone asks questions or gives you the eye, just play the dumb tourist."

The man on the other end snorted with laughter, "You got it, Red." A car door could be heard slamming as the Seeker exited the vehicle, jogging toward the elegant building with camera in tow.

Raymond ended the call, snapping the phone shut and handing it back to Dembe. "Baldur Magnusson has Rosalie at Hullett House." He confided, "Thankfully, the building is crawling with her own associates so she should be relatively safe for the time being."

"Why would Magnusson take Rosalie to one of her own locations?" The bodyguard asked, thinking it was most unlike the older magnate to make such a fatal error in venue choice.

"A very good question, Dembe." Red agreed, thinking along the same lines. "Old Baldur is up to something. He wouldn't have chosen Hullett frivolously. Someone must have told him it was Rosalie's. He's either looking to strike a deal with her or eager to make a point. Let's hope it's the former."

The sedan pulled up into the Hullett House's parking garage ten minutes later, its occupants quickly and silently making their way into the hotel lobby.

Nothing seemed out of place as they took a pair of seats in the quiet lounge, eyes peeled for any sign of Rosalie or Magnusson.

A tiny elderly woman with a shock of white hair shuffled by, giving a quiet "pst!" at the two men, garnering their attention.

Raymond and Dembe exchanged suspicious glances before she made the noise again, gesturing them to a small bookshelf beside her which she tugged. The entire cabinet swiveled, revealing a doorway. The old woman jerked her head pointedly in the direction of the door.

"She must be one of Rosalie's." Red murmured, motioning for Dembe to follow.

They moved swiftly, striding through the hidden door into a dark hall before the bookcase was closed behind them, the old woman nowhere in sight.

Both readied their weapons, preparing for the worst. They were greeted by a surprisingly familiar voice.

"Don't shoot!"

Rosalie blinked irritably up at the hulking bodyguard blocking her path out of the conference room.

"I'm afraid he insists-" the massive figure began, but the woman held up an impatient hand.

"Whoever he is, he nabbed me from an intended acquisition without so much as a good morning. If you think I'm letting him into this room without my own security you're sorely mistaken. Jethro over there has already confiscated our firearms and seems to be incessantly touching them, by the way."

The man in question lifted a vacant stare, seemingly surprised to see them all still there. He put the woman's Browning back on the table with a small flush to his cheeks.

"My guard stays with me or your boss can go to hell."

Horace took a menacing step forward, aligning himself with his charge's shoulder, reiterating her point. His powerful figure actually cast a shadow over the shorter woman, making the opposing guard take a small step backward.

Realizing there was little to be done on the matter, he stepped into the room beyond to speak with his employer. Moments later, the door opened and the guard returned. "Mr. Magnusson will be with you momentarily."

Ted Beaumont's mousy brown head poked around a polished door frame at the end of the dark hall where Red and Dembe stood.

"Come on Ray," he hissed, "We've got surveillance in the conference rooms."

The fugitive and his guard let out identical sighs of relief, stowing their weapons and turning into the room.

Several desk chairs faced a barrage of screens showing a variety of hallways, stairwells, rooms, and exits. The main screen showed a view of a conference room containing one irate blonde and her discontented bodyguard.

Raymond breathed deeply, seeing the woman was quite well and fiery as ever if her hand gestures were anything to go by.

Ted handed him a pair of large headphones, which the man donned upon removing his fedora and sunglasses.

Rosalie's voice could be heard hissing like an angry cat as she bickered with Baldur's security guard. The man wisely gave up the fight moments later, leaving the room to confer with his employer.

"We need to revisit my movements." She whispered to Horace in an undertone, "I've had quite enough of this 'kidnapped by potential clients' bullshit."

Red, Dembe, and Ted's mouths all twitched with small, reluctant smiles.

Baldur Magnusson was a suave fellow in his late forties, with a wavy coif of blonde hair and startling blue eyes. He was very well dressed, his clothing bearing an air of bespoke quality but none of the classic charm of Raymond's three piece numbers.

He strode casually into the room where Rosalie stood heatedly whispering with her guard, softly clearing his throat to announce his arrival.

Raymond's smile broadened as he watched Rosalie level the man a glare which could curdle milk.

"What do you want with me, Mr. Magnusson?" She snapped without preamble.

"Please, call me Baldur." He offered, obviously hoping to garner a bit of good will. His large hand made a sweeping gesture toward the sitting area, silently indicating she should take a seat.

Rosalie eyed him warily as she took the proffered seat, crossing her legs and sitting with a carefully poised posture. The woman feigned polite confusion. "Alright then, Baldur, is there a particular reason why you insisted on kidnapping a young woman on her way to the shops?"

A wry smile puckered at the corners of Baldur's mouth as he took his seat, giving him the look of an aging clown. "Perhaps I am simply behind the times, but I don't recall many young women making a point to carry a Browning hi-power and a Colt .45 while picking out a new handbag."

Rosalie smiled benignly, not giving the slightest indication there was anything out of the ordinary with her carrying so much fire power.

Magnusson was undeterred, "I've heard through several friends that you are far from just a little bird out doing her shopping. Unless, that is, your shopping involves private real estate."

Red's hackles rose. He did not like Baldur's use of the term little bird, it was entirely too close to his chosen endearment for Rosalie.

The woman seemed to pick up on the phrase as well, her back straightening to a level of rigidity which looked uncomfortable. "My, my, how people do talk." She quipped, not budging an inch.

Whatever Magnusson wanted from her, the man would simply have to come out with it.

Baldur seemed to realize he was picking a losing battle, because he changed his approach moments later.

"I was hoping by arranging a meeting at one of your own establishments I would prove I mean no ill will."

"Does a king find comfort being captive in his own castle?" Rosalie offered in a deadly voice, a lone eyebrow quirked questioningly.

The men in the hidden surveillance room all snorted with laughter at the woman's moxy.

"Unbeknownst to you, this is perhaps the most dangerous place you could have taken me. My associates are counting the minutes I'm in this room, and if I'm not out in the allotted time frame, you can rest assured you'll have bigger issues to deal with than what firearms I take on my shopping trips."

Raymond and Dembe turned to Ted for confirmation.

The bodyguard nodded silently, reaching out to tap one of the smaller screens which showed a handful of men donning bulletproof vests and loading various weapons in a smaller conference room.

Red and Dembe nodded their approval before turning back toward the main screen.

Magnusson sat back in his chair, rather taken aback, truth be told. "You aren't what I was expecting." He admitted, holding her gaze with one brimming with curiosity and a tinge of confusion.

"You were expecting someone a tad more polite and inviting." She supplied, knowing what was expected of her. "My modus operandi is typically far more hospitable. Unfortunate, I really don't take kindly to being dragged anywhere by anyone, much less a perfect stranger."

"I am quite well known in your clients' circles." Baldur insisted, "There are a number of your top-tier clients whom I'm certain would vouch for me."

Rosalie quirked an eyebrow at him, her surly gray eyes flickering with impatience. She simply didn't want to deal with this man.

"I know very little of you," she reiterated, adding, "other than you are a competitor of Raymond Reddington's."

Baldur scoffed softly, nodding his head in something akin to annoyance. "Yes, that young buck has been a bit of a thorn in my side as of late. Still, one can't begrudge a little friendly competition. I heard he cornered you in Brazil."

The corner of Rosalie's mouth nearly twitched into a smile, but she managed to squelch it. "He did, so you can imagine my surprise when you tried the same trick and inexplicably thought it might work in your favor."

The retort held such a bite to it, Magnusson found himself feeling delightfully intrigued. "Goodness me, but you are a vicious young thing."

"This is just my tongue, you won't believe what I can do with a switchblade." Rosalie retorted querulously, shifting to a more comfortable position in her seat.

Raymond still sat in the surveillance room, his chest rumbling with deep laughter he wasn't even bothering to stifle.

"How in the hell did you find me?" Rosalie continued her offensive attack.

"I had heard of you from several acquaintances. They warned me you would be nearly impossible to find. However, Howard Hargrave had intimated you owned the penthouses at Hullett House. I waited for the rumor to reach me that you were in Hong Kong and followed suit. A little digging with one of your bellhops and I found out you were striking a deal with the Mandarin this morning."

One of Rosalie's eyes twitched. The bellhop would need to be fired at the very least. She sighed, "Honestly, I'm beginning to regret allowing Howard into my network. He can't seem to keep his mouth shut."

"He is simply ensuring you get the type of clientele you require to keep business booming." Assured Magnusson, eager that Howard should not be booted from the network due to Baldur's admittance of his involvement.

"One of these days I'm afraid his big mouth might get me killed." Rosalie admitted, more to herself than anyone else. "So, I take it you're looking for entry."

Baldur nodded, "Once I heard you turned down Reddington after a continental game of cat and mouse, I thought you might be amicable to working with me."

Raymond sat up in his seat, interest evident on his face. Now who had told Baldur Rosalie turned him down?

He hoped the woman would ignore the mistake, it worked so well in their favor. Having the criminal circles believe he wasn't living in her network meant that when someone inevitably had a score to settle or a bone to pick with Red, Rosalie's network wouldn't even be considered as a potential hiding spot.

The young innkeeper kept her expression neutral, unsure as to who misinformed Magnusson that she had turned down the Concierge of Crime. She was content to allow it, 'Muddy water makes a shallow pool deep.' as her father used to say. Confusing the onlookers with false intel could only serve to help insulate their little band of criminals.

"Have your associates compile a list of your most frequented locations and any relevant information regarding the frequency and specifications of your movements. If I can accommodate you, we will put pen to paper before I leave Hong Kong." She decided to leave the deal up in the air, preferring to confer with Raymond before taking a step further with this client.

Magnusson flashed a rare smile, holding up his large hand into which his associate placed a manila folder. He turned and held the item out to the woman, who took it gingerly in her own.

"I look forward to doing business with you, Ms. Øllegaard." He said, his voice dripping with confidence.

Dembe had handed Red the burner phone once Rosalie and Balder left the conference room. The man wasted no time in calling the woman, intent on confirming her safety.

"Are you alright?"

"Perfectly unscathed," she sighed, settling into the back seat of her town car. "I take it you heard?"

"All of it," he confirmed, "We encountered one of your associates in the lounge who took us to Ted in a hidden surveillance room."

Rosalie laughed, "Oh, excellent, I don't have to give a play-by-play then."

Raymond breathed a little easier, listening intently to the soft voice, amused and perfectly calm as she chattered on about the meeting with Magnusson. He had known Baldur wasn't the type to shoot first and ask questions later, but he still didn't like the fact the man had gotten his hands on Rosalie in the first place.

"I can't believe he tried to pull a Reddington..." She grinned, finding the ordeal rather funny now she was safely out of the other man's clutches.

"How very unoriginal. He didn't even chase you across an entire continent and tie you to a chair, did he?" Raymond purred, feeling rather playful now he was certain the woman was unharmed and en route to the safehouse.

"Certainly not," she soothed, "Only you could woo a woman with such a tour de force."

"Damn right." He agreed, relaxing further into his seat. "Doesn't Baldur know you only have room for one dashing criminal duo in your life? There's only so much free space in that heart of yours."

"Yeah and if Dembe grows any taller you're going to get the boot." Rosalie joked, enjoying the hearty laugh which tumbled through the connection.

"I see where I stand. Already looking to trade me in for a younger model…" He bemoaned, meeting Dembe's merrily glinting eyes in the rear view mirror.

The bodyguard was shaking his head, trying not to laugh at what was so obviously a reference to him.

"What I don't understand is how Magnusson could possibly think I turned you down in Brazil." Rosalie mentioned, the exchange utterly baffling in her mind.

Raymond prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "You'd think by now he would be better at collecting intel. Imagine him waltzing in and attempting to pilfer you without so much as a well thought out plan. Honestly, it's enough to make me wonder how the man has amassed the wealth and power he has. I can't very well consider him a worthy adversary if he's going to be so lazy about it."

Rosalie let out a tinkling laugh, the tirade tickling her pink. "I'm not about to tell you what to do, Raymond, but I would let him remain an oblivious idiot."

Red's face lit with a cheeky smile, "I take it the old boy wasn't to your taste?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Baldur always did have a certain…" The particular word escaped him, "Well, you know what I mean."

"He's like a fussy old woman." Rosalie groused, flicking a bit of imaginary lint from her skirt.

Raymond roared with laughter, "Goodness me, but you are a vicious young thing." He quoted, enjoying the woman's rapidly renewing rant about her dislike for Baldur Magnusson.

Red found Rosalie an hour later safe and sound, submerged in what appeared to be a milk bath in the penthouse's black granite tub. A cacophony of flora and fauna was suspended in the opaque liquid, giving her the look of a mythological leimenide relaxing in a rocky pool. It was oddly alluring, seeing her sun kissed shoulders peeking above the water line while the rest of her remained hidden beneath.

The room was heady with a fragrant steam, bearing a combination of flowers and exotic oils. Raymond could pick up traces of sandalwood and basil on the air. In the bath, he could see pale pink peonies, blood red dahlias and snow white lotus flowers speckled with pale purple lilac petals and deep green eucalyptus fronds.

The man simply stared for a beat, taking in the picture of his lover relaxed and blissfully carefree in the lavish bath. Rosalie's hair was braided differently, almost like a crown along her hairline. He supposed it was to keep her locks out of the concoction she was submerged in. It was rather cute, he thought, seeing a sprig of lilac and eucalyptus tucked jauntily among the honeyed curls.

A lone gray eye peeped open, the woman having sensed his appearance. "Hello, Mr. Reddington," she purred mischievously, head tilting to the side so she might appreciate the formidable felon leaning casually against the door's frame.

Red smiled at her, his eyes trekking the long line of her delicate neck to where it disappeared below the milky white surface. "You look like you just wandered back from Woodstock." He teased, toeing off his shoes and socks and stepping further into the sweltering room.

Rosalie smiled sleepily, her eyes fluttering shut again. "I'm a hair too young for Woodstock, unfortunately. So are you," she reminded.

"More's the pity." Raymond insisted, taking a seat on the edge of the bath, "We would have made spectacular hippies."

The woman shook her head, "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I'm far too much of a wanton capitalist to be allowed in a hippy commune."

Her counterpart sighed, "Oh that's certainly astute. We've both been blessed with running mouths, however. I'm sure we could sweet talk our way in."

"With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?" she quoted with a drowsy smile.

Red tucked a loose curl behind her ear, coaxing the woman's eyes open once again. "See, who would have thought you were such a flower child." He thumbed the sprig in her hair playfully, "Quoting Oscar Wilde, bathing in a basin of flowers… You've nearly got me fooled."

"Next thing you know, I'll be asking you if you've got a spare joint in that suit of yours." She quipped, wrinkling her nose in amusement.

Red let out a barking laugh and cocked his head in a curious fashion, "I take it you enjoy the occasional ride on the magic dragon?"

"I enjoy a good jazz cigarette on occasion. I am a child of the 70's after all." She replied, perfectly unabashed. "Besides, out of all my vices, cannabis is the least problematic."

"What's the most?" he questioned, thoroughly intrigued by the conversation's sudden turn toward recreational drugs.

Rosalie gave him a lascivious once over, the pointed look bearing a wealth of meaning.

"Psychedelics. They pair very well with…other activities." She intoned, still ravaging him with her gaze.

Red cleared his throat, "My eyes are up here, little dove." He smirked when the slate orbs continued to drift slowly up and down his person. A lone blonde brow arched toward the heavens, daring the man to tell her off as her trek lingered in a few key places.

Red scoffed, scooping up one of the peonies and chucking it at Rosalie's shoulder in an effort to shake her from her haze.

"How dare you," she grumbled in mock outrage, gaping at the appendage as though he had shot her.

"That'll teach you." He warned, "A woman such as yourself could get into a wealth of trouble leering at me in such a way."

Rosalie scowled good-naturedly, her middle finger meeting the thumb of her right hand at the waterline and insolently flicking a few droplets of water at her counterpart before settling once more into the tub.

"Minx." Red scolded, flicking a few drops back at her. "What is all this anyway?" He waved a finger haphazardly over the liquid and its assorted flora and fauna.

"An old wives' secret, apparently. A milk bath with lotus flowers and perfumed oils, supposedly it gets rid of freckles."

"Why would you want to do such a thing?" Raymond asked, for he was truthfully quite attached to hers.

Rosalie grimaced, "I don't. Qiaolian forced me in here all but at gunpoint. The woman took one look at my shoulders and banished me to the tub, squawking that I'd play hell trying to catch a man looking like a speckled egg."

Red snorted indelicately, "Who the hell is Qiaolian?"

As if on cue, the same tiny elderly woman who lured Red and Dembe into the surveillance room came scurrying in without so much as a hello.

She wore a crisp navy pantsuit with tiny matching slippers which made no noise as she scuttled about the tiled room. A short jade necklace dangled about her throat, a pair of matching earrings peeking out from beneath her short, snowy curls.

When she spoke, her voice was clear and authoritative. "All set Ms. Rosalie, Wo Shing Wo boss is in the big penthouse at the Four Seasons, paid up through the week. I know you're not fond of triads, but they bring in big money, good for business, better to have in the back pocket." The woman's obsidian eyes flickered a deep cunning as they turned to scrutinize the newcomer.

"Oh," she cooed, her voice losing all of its bite, "You did not say your gentleman friend was visiting, Ms. Rosalie."

Raymond smiled charmingly at the old woman, holding back a snigger as he noticed Rosalie peering wide-eyed over the edge of the tub as though she was waiting to be scolded. "You must be Qiaolian, I'm Raymond Reddington."

Qiaolian flashed him a bright smile, obviously pleased he had heard of her. "Welcome to Hong Kong, Mr. Raymond, I trust you've found the penthouse to your liking?"

Rosalie gaped in outright indignation as the older woman's usual rigidity melted to an almost sickly sweet pandering.

Red grinned, "I am, very much so. Not to be a bother, but could I inconvenience you for a glass of wine? My dear little lady friend is terribly stressed." He shook his head, gesturing woefully at the put out woman in the milk bath.

Qiaolian beamed, "Oh, of course, how very thoughtful Mr. Raymond." She simpered, heading for the door, "Can I get you anything?"

"Scotch, neat, if it's not too much trouble?" He smiled benignly, playful green eyes blinking sedately.

The old woman gave a fervent nod, heading immediately for the bar in the lounge.

The moment she left the room, Raymond turned with a sly grin toward his lover, finding her still clutching the edge of the tub with eyes the size of saucers.

"You're actually afraid of her?" He taunted, laughing all the more when Rosalie's face, barely visible over the rim of black granite, flushed a soft pink.

"No," She defended staunchly, "She's a lovely elderly woman from Jiangxi, she's just...mildly terrifying."

A deep chuckle rumbled from Raymond's chest as he reached out to brush the woman's cheek with a broad thumb.

Rosalie's eyes darted shiftily to the door, "Laugh all you want, but I'm pretty sure she'd drown me if I tried to get out."

Her counterpart continued to stroke her cheek hypnotically, soothing her while still grinning mischievously at her terrorized visage. "What is this scary woman's role in your organization?"

"She's my property manager, responsible for all my safehouses in Hong Kong," confided Rosalie, her voice a low hiss as the older woman reappeared toting a scotch neat and a generous pour of a deep burgundy wine.

She set the scotch before Raymond, gently patting his shoulder before placing the tall wine glass beside Rosalie. The young innkeeper's mouth dropped open when the elderly woman patted her on the head.

"Ms. Rosalie has beautiful skin," Qiaolian said rather fondly, "But she spends too much time in the sun. I tell her what I tell my own daughters. No man wants a woman who looks like a speckled egg."

Rosalie's brows shot to her hairline, her attention turning meaningfully towards her companion, who was having a hell of a time biting back his laughter.

He nodded around a mouthful of scotch, having inhaled a much too large sip upon seeing his counterpart's expression.

There were many times in his life where Raymond Reddington was completely incapable of restraining his mouth. The witty comebacks circling in his mind periodically demanded to be released. These instances often got him into no small measure of trouble with lovers, associates, local law enforcement…

This was turning out to be one of those moments.

With the air of one cradling a hand grenade, Red leaned forward, causing Qiaolian to lean in as well.

"Well, you know, Madam, I happen to thoroughly enjoy those few speckled spots."

He purred the sentiment with just the right measure of libido, leaving the property manager standing confused and slightly scandalized beside her employer.

Qiaolian scowled at Reddington before chastising him in rapid Mandarin. She tutted at both fugitives, giving one last irritable shake of her head before practically stomping out of the apartment.

Raymond beamed and waved as she left, going so far as to follow her to the door of the master suite, nodding interestedly as she grumbled the whole way.

Once free of the intruder to their domain, Red locked the door to the suite and meandered back to his spot beside the tub.

Rosalie was shaking with suppressed laughter, her eyes streaming with mirth. "Serves you right, you old flirt." She giggled, pleased to be rid of the woman's badgering.

Raymond smirked and rolled up his sleeves. "What a shame, she was starting to grow on me."

The young woman sniggered, eyeing him warily as the man's arm dipped below the opaque liquid.

Red winked at her, his fingertips closing around the little brass plug at the bottom of the basin and tugging slightly. A loud sucking noise could be heard as the water level slowly dropped.

Rosalie excitedly observed the water's descent, keen to see what the man's plans were.

Raymond stared quite intently at her chest, watching as the white line dipped lower and lower until the very tops of her breasts were bared to his view. Satisfied, he returned the brass plug to its resting place, ceasing the loud draining noises.

Rosalie tilted her head curiously, still unsure of what the man was doing.

Red's broad hand caressed her inner thigh before surfacing, making the woman writhe excitedly.

Flicking the excess droplets from his fingers back into the tub, Red grasped a nearby hand towel and patted his arm. He dried himself, then reached over the side of the basin and gently dried the sun-loved expanse of skin above the swell of Rosalie's breasts.

"I like speckled eggs," he insisted, his tone playful. "This particular smattering owns me body and soul."

His green eyes trailed the spot adoringly while he traced roughened fingertips over the lovely little constellation.

"That old biddy will have to fight me if she wishes to rid you of these."

Rosalie cackled merrily at the thought, "I would pay big bucks to see you in a granny cage match."

Raymond shook his head, the image delightfully absurd. He passed the wineglass back to its owner, silently suggesting she have a drink and relax.

"Do you mind if I shower?" He asked, looking forward to washing away the stress of a busy day.

"Not at all," Rosalie waggled her eyebrows, "I'm always in the mood for a free show."

Red turned to the enclosure, which stood directly beside the bathtub, encased in perfectly clear glass. Thankfully, Raymond was a confident man, not one to be put off by the blatant ogling of a beautiful woman. Quite the opposite, actually.

With a devil-may-care smirk, he set about giving her the kind of show which all but guaranteed he would get laid.

He heard a soft squeal of excitement as Rosalie settled into the center of the tub with her glass of wine, not willing to miss a single second.

Red carefully stripped down, taking his sweet time with each article of clothing. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and draped over his sink, followed by the silk oxblood tie. His eyes didn't leave Rosalie once while he undid the buttons on his shirt. Just as he did when in the midst of a negotiation, he held the woman captive in his sphere, bending her desires to his will with each inch of exposed flesh.

Rosalie nibbled her bottom lip, leaning forward when he reached the cuffs. She had always found the action of undoing those small buttons alluring to the point of distraction.

The man's green orbs still bore into her, making the woman almost certain he could see right through the side of the tub to where heat was pooling between her thighs.

The immaculate white shirt parted, giving her a teasing glimpse of the man's upper body.

He turned profile, allowing the luxurious fabric to slide lazily down his frame, catching the collar in one hand before it hit the ground.

A little mew of approval could be heard from the tub, making Red smile. He draped the shirt over her vanity chair, implying the item was hers once she was ready to get dressed.

Rosalie beamed and mouthed a quick, 'Thank You' before resting her arms on the tub's granite ledge.

Raymond stepped forward, thumbing her chin and flashing her a wink before returning to his sensual pastime. He watched her hungrily as he stood directly in front of the ledge and flipped the catch on his belt.

Rosalie couldn't stifle the moan which poured from her throat at the sound. The minute clink of his belt buckle was enough to make her wet these days.

Red chuckled, trailing the heavy leather from its loops and wrapping it about his fist in a neat coil before placing it on the nearby countertop. His lover was transfixed, peeking over the side of the basin at his trousers, her soft lips parted in a tiny 'o'.

The woman was on tenterhooks as the masculine hands set to the task of divesting the man's slacks. The deep gray eyes trailed up and down his body, their pupils blown wide.

The garment dropped heavily to the ground, leaving Red in his boxers. He stepped out of the crumpled fabric, bending to lift the item and fold it neatly onto the sink with the rest of his clothes.

Rosalie watched the muscles in his legs flex with each movement, showcasing the agile limbs with their fine coating of light colored hair. She stared in open appreciation while he moved this way and that, grabbing his towel, hanging it on the nearby hook and stretching quite obviously for her benefit.

Raymond caught her avid gaze, quirking flirtatious brows in her direction as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers. He paused for effect, waiting until an impatient little whine could be heard from the bath.

"Take it off, darling," Rosalie cajoled, chin resting in her upturned palm, her white teeth worrying her bottom lip as desire and anticipation engulfed her features.

"What's in it for me?" He asked, instead reaching to turn on the shower's taps.

"I've got a few spare shekels lying about should you need…incentive," she offered magnanimously.

The man considered her for a moment before answering perfectly deadpan. "Just for you, the first peep show is a nickel."

Rosalie couldn't help but giggle, "Sold!"

Red pushed the soft, dark fabric down his hips at a torturous pace, glancing innocently over the shoulder at his eager audience. He turned at the last moment, only giving the woman a view of his hips and backside.

Raymond Reddington certainly had a multitude of attributes for which he should be quite confident.

The scarring on his back made it difficult to see, but Rosalie could still make out the taut muscles rippling beneath the surface; the same could be said for the man's arms. Though not huge and hulking, the limbs were obviously masculine and held a distinct brawniness which Rosalie found exciting. These traits often remained hidden until the man moved just so, allowing the thick muscles to bulge as he twisted and turned.

Whether Raymond was firing a gun or making love, the woman would often stop to appreciate the simple allure of the man's arms.

Her gaze trickled down his person, getting reacquainted with his sturdy legs and tantalizing torso.

Rosalie sighed her approval upon catching a full view of the man's taut backside. The firm, smooth derrière garnered her undivided attention as he strut into the shower's enclosure. She found the sight incredibly erotic.

The base of Red's spine was the home for her heels when they were making love, and the sides of those cheeks, which dimpled inward ever so slightly, were Rosalie's favorite place to grip when she couldn't help but pull him deeper.

Red always snarled his approval whenever she did so, considering the lustful action indicative of his effect on her.

Rosalie shifted to the far edge of the tub, getting as close as possible to the shower stall.

Raymond grinned back at her, wasting no time in lathering himself from head to toe. He coyly kept himself either profile or facing away from the tub, denying the woman the view she most desired.

His cock was fully in tune with the proceedings, swelling with anticipation despite the fact his playmate was firmly on the other side of the glass.

Rosalie leaned this way and that, attempting to garner the view she prized.

She scowled when Red peered back and smirked, dropping one large hand to his shaft, stroking the appendage in a smooth, lazy fashion. The woman behind him could only see the slow, disciplined movements of his arm and shoulder.

"Come on, honey," she cooed in an attempt to coax him into turning around, "I've waited all day to play with you, and I've got your nickel waiting…" As much as she was enjoying the sight of his fine form covered in bubbles, she was dying to see him head to toe.

Raymond chuckled, turning just enough for her to see the movements of his hand. His left palm held fast to the wall between them as he teased his aching shaft for her viewing pleasure. It was quite arousing, knowing she was just a quarter inch of glass away, watching his every move.

Rosalie mewed, catching a peak at his thick head gliding through his tight fist. She wanted to be the one touching him.

Red moaned when she licked her lips, still utterly distracted by the view of him getting off.

So distracted, in fact, she failed to notice the heavy fog starting to blur her vision.

Moments later, the delectable view was gone, the entire stall having become obscured by thick steam.

"The glass is fogged over." Rosalie whined, already missing her bubble-filled peep show.

"That's all you get for a nickel." Red called with a smirk, letting the hot water trickle down his front.

"Yeah well joke's on you, it was a wooden nickel anyway." She retorted, her tone an effective pout.

Raymond chuckled, realizing he was in a terribly frisky mood. Taking his wet fingertips to the glass wall, he wrote a message for the bathing woman in the steam.

_'Peep show, 25¢'_

"Hold on now, what do I get for a quarter?" She crooned on the end of a giggle, trying to get the slightest peek into the steamy interior.

Red pondered a moment before writing on the glass again.

_'Hunky Striptease.'_

Rosalie's tinkling laugh was infectious, bubbling effervescently over the walls of the shower, making the man laugh too.

"Hmm…I just saw that one, and it was basically free." The woman feigned disinterest, fighting the gaiety attempting to force its way into her voice.

Raymond beamed at the foggy outline. She was going to make him work for this one.

_'Peep show, 50¢'_

"For double the price, I better get a lap dance." Rosalie insisted, enjoying the hell out of Raymond's deep, sultry laugh.

_'Sold out.'_

"Boo!" She grumbled, squealing with laughter when Red lobbed a wet loofah over the glass enclosure and directly into the tub.

He grinned when he heard Rosalie sputter, the projectile having created a sizable splash.

_'Peep show, 75¢'_

"Your price is getting pretty steep there, big boy." She heckled in response, swirling the contents of her wine glass while she prodded the loofah with a manicured toe. "Let's skip the formalities, what do I get for a _dollar_?"

Red's tongue circled the inside of his cheek, "There's my little racketeer." He purred to himself, his answer coming quite readily to him.

_'Full frontal fugitive.'_

A wolf whistle could be heard from the direction of the bath. "A bargain at any price!" She called, pulling the brass plug from the tub.

Raymond wiped himself a window on the glass, watching intently as the shapely creature emerged from the milky whiteness of her bath.

Vibrant purple petals clung here and there, making Rosalie look as though she had frolicked nude in a field of wildflowers before stepping out onto the tiled floor.

Red eyed her hungrily, completely enamored by the tiny white rivulets trickling down her curves until the vision was once again blocked by steam.

Rosalie padded over to the shower, still perfectly naked, and tapped on the glass.

"Cash up front," Raymond intoned, his voice dripping with vindictive pleasure. "Can't have you paying the fare in wooden nickels."

"Dammit," he heard the feminine voice curse, coaxing another laugh from him.

"Keep it up, chuckles, your tip is getting stingier and stingier." She replied, shaking her head when the man's laughter only echoed more loudly.

Tiptoeing out to their room, Rosalie looked in vain for her wallet. The item was nowhere to be found, and she was starting to get a chill.

"Every minute you keep me waiting my price gets higher." Raymond urged her along.

"I can't find a dollar!"

"Excuses, excuses." Red could hear the little voice muttering curse words under her breath before her frustration finally reached its peak.

Two small, bare feet stomped into the bathroom, their owner reaching out to snatch a towel from beside the tub. "I'll be right back." She insisted, grumpily making her way out of the room.

"What?" Called Red, poking his head out of the shower stall to find an empty room.

Rosalie padded down the hall to Dembe's room and rapped on the door. It was only when she heard the handle turn that she fully realized she was dripping wet and clad only in a towel.

The poor young man's face held the most bemused expression upon seeing his friend, Rosalie found it rather endearing.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, and for God's sake, don't read too much into this, but… Do you have a dollar I could borrow for an hour?"

A deep, rumbling laugh roared from Dembe's belly, making him wipe the corners of his eyes as they watered with mirth. "_Only_ a dollar?"

"Just an hour, I'll bring it right back!" She insisted, not catching the man's meaning.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out the note, shaking his head and chuckling. "Keep it."

The innkeeper gaped at her friend, "No, wait, it's not what you think! I can't find my-"

Dembe merely held up his hand, "I don't want to know," he insisted jovially, "Enjoy whatever it is your dollar gets you." The man grinned broadly, still howling with laughter as he shooed her along.

"But-" Rosalie protested before burying her face in one hand, a vibrant blush flooding her head to toe as she hurried back into her and Raymond's bedroom. She stopped a split second to grab the necessities from the nightstand drawer before scuttling back into the bath.

The shower was still on, its occupant humming softly to himself.

Rosalie shivered, now thoroughly chilled, and dropped her towel.

When she grasped the door handle to open it, she barely got more than an inch before Red grasped the handle on the other side, halting her progress.

"Uh, uh, uh, little dove." He tutted, holding the other hand out, his fingers beckoning expectantly.

Rosalie growled and slapped the dollar into his palm along with one of the condoms she grabbed from his nightstand. "There, you despot." She groused, squirming in the cool air, wanting desperately to be under the warmth of the shower's pounding spray.

The door swung wide, displaying her lover entrenched in steam, soaking wet and tantalizing. Soap bubbles slid down the man's broad torso, trickling through the thatch of hair trailing from his chest to his groin before slithering down his muscled legs and into the water below. His manhood hung quite heavily between his legs, pulsing with the need to be buried inside her.

Rosalie certainly wasn't cold anymore.

Red grinned and pulled her into the warmth, immediately claiming her lips in a ravenous kiss.

The woman readily melted into his embrace, giving in to the delectable sensations the man could evoke. She mewled and clutched him tightly, his wicked tongue making her dizzy as it slipped between her lips and ravaged her mouth.

Raymond wasted no time in sheathing his erection and hooking one of Rosalie's knees over his bulging forearm. A sweet little moan accompanied the sensation of her tight heat eagerly enveloping his thick cock.

The lewd squeaking sounds of wet skin against glass could be heard combining with a chorus of pleasured moans as the pair happily reacquainted themselves with one of their favorite positions.

A few hours later, Raymond and Rosalie were heading out for a dinner date with Dembe and Ted in tow.

The former leaned into his employer's ear as his face split in an ear-to-ear grin. "I didn't realize you were such a bargain."

"Pardon?" Asked Red, thoroughly confused for a moment.

"Rosalie came to my room a few hours ago in naught but a towel requesting a loan for an as of yet unnamed purchase. The total sum was $1." Dembe's teeth shone pearly white as he waited for the other boot to drop.

Realizing what dollar he was referring to, Raymond couldn't hold back his laughter. "She was going to pay me in wooden nickels, Dembe! Can you imagine? I had to demand a cash deposit before handing over the merchandise."

Both men chortled delightedly, drawing a suspicious gaze from the woman in question, which only made them laugh more.

The young bodyguard was truthfully very pleased his friend had found a measure of joy in this life. Raymond's budding relationship with the innkeeper was obviously doing wonders for the man's happiness, and his guard was pleased to see Rosalie just as content with their arrangement.

Dembe considered it his duty to save Reddington's soul; he had told the man as much when he began working for him.

Rosalie, though a bonafide criminal, was a bottomless well of warmth and empathy. The young man knew her love would go a long way toward achieving his goal.

In the break between their meal and the desserts they ordered, Raymond recused himself to the men's room. On his return trek to the table, his path was obstructed by a run of the mill security guard.

"Mr. Reddington, my apologies for interrupting your evening. Walter Hawthorne was wondering if he could have a quick word."

Red's brows lifted in pleasant surprise, he took one quick, surreptitious glance in the direction of his companion. He nodded curtly and followed the man into the adjoining dining room.

"Ray!" Came the buoyant call of one Walter Hawthorne, sitting in a pose of utter contentment at a recently cleared table. Walter was a robust man with a taste for the finer things in life. Homes, cars, women, he enjoyed them all with abandon. It was one of the many things Red liked about him.

The Concierge of Crime grinned broadly, leaning down to give the man a bear hug and slap his back in open camaraderie. "Not that I'm not pleased as hell to see you, Walt, but do make this quick. I've got one frisky hellcat of a Norwegian waiting for me."

Walt's visage was transported into boyish delight. "Do you, now? My god, I'll be sure not to wax poetic then, since there's a much more enticing prospect on your horizon." He beamed and gestured to the seat in front of him with one beefy, wrinkled hand.

"What are you up to these days?" Red questioned genially, taking the seat opposite Walt.

"Serving as chairman of the board for the Mandarin, if you can believe it."

Raymond held his surprise admirably. Walt didn't know it, but he had already met Red's lovely companion earlier that morning. "Really?" He asked, affecting a tone of polite intrigue, "How long have you been the captain of that ship?"

"The past three years," Walt replied, swirling a heavy glass containing a dark amber liquid. He silently gestured toward the nearby scotch, but Red shook his head, there was already a fine cognac waiting for him at his own table. He told the man as much.

"She must be a unique delicacy, I don't think I've ever seen you turn down a vintage this rare." The older man needled playfully, quirking bushy white eyebrows in the other man's direction.

"She pairs beautifully with an equally rare 1858 Croizet Cuvée." Raymond retorted, his mind leisurely wandering toward those soft, warm curves, a hint of wildflower honey playing at his tongue.

Walter roared with laughter, "Jesus, to be young and insatiable again." He sighed, smiling wistfully at the ceiling, "If I had it to do over again, I'd fuss less with my business, leaving my lover's side just long enough to ensure it kept running before sinking right back..."

"What can I do for you, Walt?" Raymond asked, shifting them back to the task at hand.

"Ah yes, of course," the man nodded, recalling the purpose for their discussion. "The Mandarin is seeking a business opportunity with a woman operating in a rather, shall we say, gray area." He intimated, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

"In your circles she would be called an innkeeper, only she's a bit more involved than that. She approached us a year ago about a partnership wherein she takes on the upkeep of our penthouses, utilizing the rooms to temporarily accommodate high profile criminals." Walt's expression turned sour, "The board needs complete consensus to move forward on any decisions and we were split, eight for, one against. Lo and behold, two months later we find out she's doing business with the Four Seasons, Hullett House, and the Peninsula. It's rather embarrassing, having the Mandarin being the last one to get a seat at the table."

"Who was the last hold out?" Asked Reddington curiously.

"An elderly member of the board," Walter waved a careless hand, "Real conservative type, died last month. The others met shortly after the funeral and voted we would seek this woman out before his seat could be filled. She's in town apparently on some triad business. We met with her this morning to see if she is still open to negotiations."

"Is she?" Raymond questioned, though, in truth, he already knew the answer.

"Yes, thank God. We are eager to unload our penthouses, they're simply too expensive to carry in our overhead and vastly underutilized. Yet the others, they have been... skittish about doing business with her. We have waited too long while our competitors have benefited from the connection. The board just doesn't want to get in over our heads."

"Has this innkeeper's clientele ever been caught?" Red supplied, seeing where the conversation was headed.

"Never on premises," Walter assured, "and the company is insulated in the unlikely event that should happen."

"Yet you're still nervous to work with her?" The younger man asked, a tad confused.

"Honestly, Ray, she's young and it's uncharted territory for us all. That's the hold up. There's nothing unsettling about the woman herself. Honestly, if you like Norwegians, she'd be just your type. Blonde, silver-tongued and clever as the devil himself."

"Ah, so you're looking for a broker." Raymond surmised, nodding thoughtfully.

"I would trust only your judgement on something like this, Ray. We need someone who can go in blind and broker a deal which lends itself well to our future. If she's stable and willing to play ball, we want to get ahead of our competitors in other markets."

"You want her to take on penthouses outside of Hong Kong." Red deduced, the surprise he felt snuck into his voice.

"Yes." Walt agreed, "We want to hand over each and every penthouse in our portfolio to her command."

When Raymond returned to their table, offering an apology for his lengthy delay, he found Rosalie on the phone with another board member from the Mandarin.

"They want to go through a broker." She sighed once the call finished, her frustration evident.

"You don't sound surprised." Red noted, his expression cautious, wondering if she had been told he would be the one brokering the deal.

"The Mandarin has been dragging its heels from day one. I approached them about this opportunity over a year ago, but they wouldn't bite. I didn't pursue it too determinedly as I signed the Peninsula the following day followed immediately by Hullett House and the Four Seasons. I had my hands full enough."

Raymond sniggered, "It only takes one to turn the rest."

Rosalie smirked, cozying up to his side in the plush booth. "Don't we know it?" She agreed, placing a playful peck to his cheek. She pondered him for a long beat before something seemed to click into place.

"Would you perhaps coach me?" She asked tentatively.

"On how to broker a deal?" Red asked, not believing his luck. He had been wondering how to handle the situation, but now he could see the path laid out clearly before him, and he was going to take it.

"I mean, if it's not too much trouble," she added, a bit nervously, "I've dealt with a broker here and there in the past but knowing these men, they're going to bring a heavy hitter. I don't want to be steamrollered."

"It's no trouble at all, little dove" grinned Raymond, sipping his cognac and silently basking in his good fortune.

"This is gonna be a gas."

"What do you want out of the deal?" Raymond asked her once they were back in the comfort of their safehouse. The man had decided in the short ride home not to tell Rosalie he was the one brokering the deal. Instead, he would teach her everything he could about negotiating with a broker in the next few hours and give her the opportunity to broker it herself when she met him the following day. This was an important lesson for Rosalie, and learning it in context with an active deal would only help her in the long run.

The man merely hoped she would not be too cross with him when the truth inevitably came out.

Rosalie sat across from him in the lounge with a piping hot cup of tea, burrowed contentedly in the button down he had just vacated. "I need-"

"No." Red interrupted, arms crossed over his broad chest. Memories of his time with Robert Vesco were lining up in the back of Raymond's mind, ready to teach her the lessons the man before her had learned the hard way.

"Not what you need, what you want. There's a difference. You've amassed a powerful empire, Rosalie, it's about time you learned to throw your weight around."

The woman balked, slightly uncomfortable stepping outside her usual methodology for the first time. Red's brusque tone caused a confusing reaction within her, somewhere between sheepishness and arousal.

"You aren't doing yourself any favors acting sweet and lovely every time you seek a new client." He explained a little more gently, "Your network is unlike anything these men could possibly fathom. You're a necessity niche, and an expensive one at that. Every criminal worth their salt wants in." He cupped her cheek in one large, warm hand. "Be demanding, forceful. Don't take their pushback because they will most certainly push back. You have the capital and the influence to tell every one of them to fuck themselves. Baldur Magnusson included."

Rosalie flushed with pleasure at his praise, her confidence rising with each word he spoke. Raymond wasn't one to soothe with pretty little lies. He genuinely believed what he said, and in her gut, Rosalie knew he was right. She had been utilizing the kind of tactics a fledgling criminal needs to employ, but she was no longer a wallflower, she needed to do this.

Red smiled, seeing the conviction flickering to life in those intense gray orbs. "You don't need the Mandarin at all. You want them. They need to know they're a want, not a need, and you therefore won't be taken for a ride to get them."

"Got it," whispered Rosalie, leaning forward to press her lips gently to his. "Keep going."

"What do you want from the deal?" He asked again, taking a step back so they both could think straight.

"I won't settle for less than each and every penthouse above the 50th floor." Rosalie stated, "I want a team of my own associates working on the inside, their sole responsibility will be these penthouses. I don't want any of their people involved, not even the manager."

"Good," nodded Raymond, "Now think bigger."

Rosalie's brow furrowed, "Bigger? I thought what I was chasing was already a pretty big ask."

Red shook his head. "Bigger." He insisted, "What would change the playing field for you?"

The woman thought for a long moment, considering what would give her an edge, what her future plans for her business were. "I've been planning to expand the penthouse network beyond Hong Kong." She admitted, though she had not been planning to approach the hotels about expansion for at least another year.

"Bigger." Raymond purred, holding the little ingenue in a shiver-inducing stare.

Rosalie quaked, her cheeks flushing a soft pink from that gaze.

"Focus," He whispered with an endearing smirk. He had been setting her off-kilter on purpose.

His companion shook her head, realizing the ploy and how she had perfectly fallen for it. "I had hoped to expand outside of China by 2002." She snapped, working to get her head back in the negotiation. "You don't really think they want me to take on locations outside of the continent, do you?" She asked, disbelief etched in her features, "Raymond, they have been the very definition of gun-shy. I've barely gotten them into a negotiation for Hong Kong, how am I supposed to ask for other locations?"

"You aren't going to ask for other locations," he corrected, earning a frustrated scowl from his counterpart. "You're going to demand them. All of them. Every penthouse they own is yours, or none at all." Red's eyes were volatile and flickering with a deep, dark cunning.

Rosalie moved to stand toe to toe with Raymond, her face lifting upward, searching his features for understanding.

The man reached out and grasped her chin with his thumb and forefinger, keeping her gaze locked with his. "Think, Rosalie; Why else would they use a broker?" He tried a different tactic, hoping to lead her to the truth without letting on he knew more than he did.

"Something about me unsettles them, makes them nervous." She insisted, settling on the only readily available explanation that made sense.

"What do you reckon would have their hackles raised?" Raymond goaded, eagerness evident in his gaze.

"My age, the nature of the work. Those were the reasons given for their initial refusal."

Red shook his head again. "If they're open to negotiations, those reasons are deemed inconsequential. What could they want from you which hiring a broker might guarantee them?"

"You don't honestly believe they're wanting me to take on all of those properties?" Rosalie balked again, her tone incredulous.

"They do. There's no other reason why they would want a broker in on the deal at this stage of the game."

The woman looked quizzically at him, intrigued by the idea but not entirely sure of the validity behind it.

Raymond backed off, content for now to simply to sow the seed of possibility in her mind. "Alright then, the broker, what can you offer him?"

"Sexual favors?" She quipped, unable to withhold the witty retort with her lover so close.

Red raised a lone brow in response. "That particular trinket is only for bribing me." He responded with a petulant glower, dropping his fingertips to ease up the backs of her thighs along that ticklish spot just below her backside.

Rosalie squirmed, attempting to wriggle away from his teasing.

"Know your audience, the broker, what is he going to be looking for?" Red continued their lesson, backing his companion into a dark alcove of the room.

"Stability," replied Rosalie, her voice carrying the tiniest tremor. "His reputation, and I'm assuming, a fat payout are on the line. He wants to know I can handle the additional properties, and will keep my word in my dealings with his client."

"That's what a run of the mill broker wants." He conceded, trailing his nose along her jawline, "What about a criminal one?"

"He would want… a piece of the pie?" She questioned, gasping when she was lifted into Red's arms, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. "Access to my network or a cut of the Hong Kong profits?"

"Very good," Raymond growled, unable to keep his mouth from nibbling the length of sensitive skin running from her shoulder to her earlobe.

"Raymond," Rosalie mewled, the tension between them reaching a boiling point. "Make love to me." She demanded, changing the direction of their negotiations entirely.

Red chuckled darkly, taking her from the alcove and heading directly for their bedroom. "Now you're getting the hang of it." He purred his approval, all too ready to meet her every command.

The following morning saw two yawning fugitives partaking in a much-needed carafe of coffee in the penthouse kitchen.

Raymond had spent the majority of last night going through the negotiation with Rosalie, interrupted by periodic intervals of heated lovemaking to release the tension which inevitably built between them as they bickered and bartered back and forth.

It had turned into a delightfully odd kind of foreplay, and to the man's immense surprise, he felt their connection blossom and strengthen as the hours passed.

Rosalie was a quick study, and eager to take any advice he offered into account. The result was an intellectually and physically stimulating night the likes of which neither had enjoyed with a lover before.

"Thank you, again." Rosalie whispered, drawing the man out of his pleasant recollections. Her warm hand rested gently in his larger one, stroking his palm with her thumb. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your willingness to teach me."

Raymond grasped her back, running a broad thumb back and forth over her knuckles. "Anytime, my dear. I found the whole evening utterly delightful."

They both sniggered mischievously, ceasing their discussion when the guards entered the room.

The four took the same town car that morning, as Ted was refueling the secondary transport. The woman had been pleased at this turn of events, finding comfort in Raymond's continued presence.

"Be forceful, be demanding." He reminded as they pulled up to the opulent hotel. The man barely contained the snarky smirk attempting to overtake his features. "And sexual favors are only acceptable whilst negotiating with me."

"You're a terrible coach." Rosalie giggled, leaning forward and kissing him soundly in thanks before Horace opened the car door for her.

"Go get 'em, tiger." Raymond bolstered, grinning in that mischievous way of his.

The woman grinned back, giving him a sly wink before turning into the building's entrance with her guard.

"Alright, Dembe, take me 'round the back." Red chuckled, positively bouncing with excitement at what was to come.

The young bodyguard let out an exasperated sigh, "Tell me you aren't the broker." He pleaded, thinking about Rosalie's potential reaction.

"I am, and if she asks, you can plead ignorance." The man insisted, gesturing his friend to hurry up and drive.

Dembe shook his head, taking the vehicle quickly around to the back of the building. "This is a terrible idea." He grumbled, unable to keep his opinion to himself.

"This is a magnificent idea," corrected Red, "Trust me."

Both men exited the car, one with a bounce in his step, the other barely managing a reluctant shuffle.

To her credit, Rosalie's stride did not falter as she drew up alongside the eerily familiar security at the end of the long hallway.

"Oh, dammit all to hell!" She hissed, scowling up at Dembe's politely amused face, "It was him this whole time, wasn't it?"

The young man remained silent, only a small chuckle escaping him as he opened the door for her.

The woman's visage, usually so warm and gentle when speaking with her friend, was tinted with a frosty annoyance. She knew Dembe wasn't the type to tattle and would never break Raymond's confidence on anything, but she was still a little miffed at having the truth withheld from her.

"For what it's worth, I had no idea." Dembe murmured his innocence, earning a gentle hand on his forearm. Rosalie gave him a quick squeeze, acknowledging she was not at all upset with him, before stepping into the cozy conference room containing one terribly amused Concierge of Crime.

The man sat in the custom navy blue wool and silk suit Rosalie had been admiring that morning, her favorite white shirt with the gray stripes, and a geometric Zegna tie in a dark bordeaux. He was, as always, immaculately put together, and it managed to aggravate the woman further.

"Hello, Ms. Øllegaard," He crooned, playing his part expertly, "I'm Raymond Reddington."

Rosalie leveled him a lethal look which tickled the man pink.

"You have got to be kidding me." She snapped, triple-checking the door to the room was closed and locked. "They asked you to broker the deal?"

Raymond nodded, crossing his legs and basking in her fiery presence.

She had chosen a deep emerald dress in a very fine mulberry silk. The neckline dipped in a sharp v all the way down to her sternum, while the sleeves stopped at the outer edge of her shoulders. It was a lovely number, hugging her figure perfectly and providing a necessary swell of confidence inside and out.

"Did I mention yet how enamored I am with this particular number?" He commented, gesturing at her attire with his coffee cup. How he managed to procure the beverage in the short time she had been walking through the hotel was beyond her.

"Don't change the subject, Raymond."

"Already so tense," he tutted, gaze traveling her lovely frame shamelessly. "I could certainly…help with that."

Rosalie tried like hell to stifle the memories of last night from overtaking her mind, but to no avail. She couldn't help the subtle shift of her thighs, her mind and body responding all too readily to the mental images and that husky purr. Her mouth twitched at the corners, a reluctant smile threatening to commandeer her features.

Red couldn't hold back a sensual laugh, always pleased to see evidence of the effect he had on her.

"I'm sorry, but how in the hell is this going to work?" Hissed Rosalie, barely containing her laughter. He couldn't possibly be serious.

"It's very simple, little dove." Red whispered with a wolfish grin, "You're negotiating your deal with me now, and something tells me it's going to go very, very well."

The woman gaped at him for a moment.

He was going to give her everything she wanted in this exchange.

He had planned it all along, the thought dropped like a stone in her stomach.

"So last night, all of that was, what, a game?" She whispered, the notion incredibly upsetting. Rosalie had believed he was genuinely being helpful, had actually cared about her success.

The previous night had meant a great deal to Rosalie, and it now felt like some callous trick.

"Certainly not." Raymond soothed, seeing the hurt and ire kindling rapidly behind her eyes.

"I knew you wouldn't allow me to simply give you everything you wanted in the deal and then some. You aren't built that way, Rosalie."

The woman's eyes had fallen to the floor, her teeth worrying her bottom lip apprehensively.

Red stood, reaching up to thumb her chin, easing the plump, reddened flesh from between those pearly whites. "You don't look a gift horse in the mouth, but you're clever enough to know being handed things only breeds laziness and entitlement. You don't suffer either well, especially when it comes to your business."

He explained, "You wouldn't be satisfied with this acquisition, it would mean nothing to you if you didn't earn it yourself. There was an opportunity to teach you the art of negotiating with force, to show you the importance of not being afraid to throw your weight around. I wasn't going to waste it."

Rosalie bit the inside of her cheek, lifting her chin from his grasp and pulling her shoulders back."You're right, I wouldn't." She admitted, gracefully taking the seat across from him.

"No holds barred, Reddington." She demanded, "I won't stand for you just handing me the keys to this place."

"Wouldn't dream of it, little dove." He caressed the endearment almost brazenly, reclaiming his seat and settling in for a long, strenuous negotiation.

A little over an hour later, and Rosalie had painstakingly secured nearly every ask she entered with.

Raymond was true to his word, and didn't give her an ounce of leeway. He battled her every move, ensuring she earned every demand she made. He learned a great deal about her business in the process, which only fueled the verbal sparring match occurring between them.

The tension in the room was stifling, the constant back and forth between them had the air crackling like a live wire, leaving a prickling sensation on their skin.

The dulcet tones of their negotiations were tinted with frustration and the tiniest hint of arousal, making the room feel several degrees warmer than it actually was. This manifested itself in a minute flush on both their cheeks and an abundance of shifting in their seats, attempting to maintain their decorum. Twice Rosalie had lost herself to the thought of taking her lover there and then, the mental picture of them entwined in his chair or pinned against the opposite wall making her cheeks flood a luminous pink which extended down her neck to her very exposed décolletage.

Raymond's mouth went bone dry in those moments. He knew damn well what that little blush foretold and where his lover wandered. He would have been more than happy to oblige, but he instead let her decide if she wished to go down that road.

She always smothered her arousal seconds later, leaving Red to hope they would succumb to their desire once this little dance was finished.

Finally, there was only one loose end left for them to tie up, and the ball was firmly in Raymond's court.

"What do you want out of all of this?" Rosalie asked, eager to reach the end of this exhausting tete-a-tete.

"One hand washes the other," Red assured; he was going to be just as elusive with his demands as she had been with hers.

The woman blinked coyly up at him. "I was informed sexual favors are only to be used whilst negotiating with you."

"Were you now?" Raymond crooned, giving her a lascivious once-over. "I could certainly be persuaded by someone of your…talents." His voice caressed the word with no small amount of indecency. He could just make out the outline of her nipples beneath the thin silk she wore. Both stood at attention, perked excitedly at the sound of his voice, the sound usually a precursor to his mouth encompassing them.

"Baldur Magnusson." Rosalie intoned, slate orbs holding him in a vice grip.

"What could I possibly want with Baldur Magnusson?" Questioned Raymond, his libido unmoved by the sudden change of direction.

"I know he's your biggest competitor. You know he approached me about joining my network. Whether or not I accept him can heavily influence your empire." Her expression was unblinking while she let her words sink in. "I was going to deny him entry just to piss him off, but I could accept him, allowing you access to his every move."

"What could such a thing do for me?" He prodded, his interest sufficiently piqued.

"Come now, Raymond, you're far more clever than that. You know how in depth my network is. You would know his every vice, his associates, who he meets with, what he gets up to on a cold dark night and who he...gets it up with. You would be privy to your adversary's every weakness. If he so much as blinks in your direction you can request my team poison his morning porridge. Don't even try to convince me that doesn't leave you the least bit tempted."

"Oh," Red chuckled warmly, shaking his head. The green eyes shone with a wild approval, crinkling at the corners as his mouth broke into a broad grin.

"Brava, Rosalie. My God, that's good."

He simply stared at her for a long beat, even more pleased when she still didn't buckle. "What would you wish in exchange, my dear?"

"I want ownership of the penthouses." Rosalie tilted her head in a very Reddington way. "Not just usage, I want complete and total ownership of everything above the 50th floor in all buildings. My people will be responsible for running, stocking, and booking, all of it. Even when there isn't one of my clients in the property, one of my associates will be solely responsible for renting out the penthouses in their entirety."

"That's my clever girl." Raymond whispered, something akin to astonishment flooding his gaze and making Rosalie's ire falter momentarily.

A light knocking noise popped the tense bubble which had engulfed them. Walter Hawthorne strode into the room, smiling genially at the restless pair. "Everything in order?" He asked, taking the third seat in the room.

"Yes, we just finished. Everything is in perfect working order, so if you don't mind, I'll leave you all to dot the i's and cross the t's." Red beamed merrily, tipping his hat to the silently seething woman across from him. He would pay dearly for this little bit of trickery, he knew, but it had been worth it.

Stepping out into the hall, the man donned his customary sunglasses and gave Horace an appreciative nod. "We'll be back at the safehouse once she's finished. I have the distinct feeling we're about to have our first real fight."

The Egyptian thought Reddington was far too jovial for someone staring down the barrel of Rosalie Øllegaard's discontent. "Ted has the secondary car waiting for you... You're a braver man than I." He insisted, thinking the man was in for one hell of a fight.

Raymond laughed, the anticipation evident in his features. "I thoroughly enjoy an angry lover now and again. A bite here a well-aimed swat there… Things get aggressive and wild and exciting as hell. Be sure to tell her I'll have a pair of handcuffs waiting should she really be miffed with me."

Both Horace and Dembe shook their heads ruefully, only serving to amuse the fugitive further.

It was another couple hours before Rosalie stormed into the penthouse like a whirlwind.

Dembe blinked placidly up at her, taking a long sip of his tea.

"No interruptions." She growled, blowing past him on her way to the master suite.

"…Please," she added, her voice echoing down the hall, not wishing to be rude.

Horace sniggered, meeting the other man's amused expression knowingly.

"I take it she is displeased?" The younger bodyguard asked, thinking Raymond may have had it coming with his latest bit of chicanery.

Rosalie's guard shook his head and replied smoothly, "Quite the contrary. She's terribly, awfully pleased."

They both leaned backward, watching the little woman stride purposefully toward Red's location. She crossed the threshold into the master bedroom and a long beat of silence fell before a lone hand reached out, looping a sharp Zegna tie around the doorknob before slamming the oak panel closed with a bang.

Dembe's brows lifted in surprise, a small chuckle leaving his lips as he and Horace made their way to the opposite end of the penthouse, as far from the master suite as possible.

Raymond heard the woman barge into the apartment and waited on pins and needles as she tore through the living area like a bat out of hell. Her voice could be heard, carrying an uncharacteristic burn, demanding they not be interrupted. A quickly added 'please' made the man's lips curl upward. At the very least, she was not so angry as to be cross with Dembe, who was in a way, as he so often was, Raymond's accomplice.

Red was content to row with the woman, recognizing he had been a tad dishonest with her. Though the deal they had struck was heavily in Rosalie's favor, the man wasn't so naïve as to believe he could blindside her in such a way and come out unscathed. He had in fact planned for the eventuality, and had taken a calculated risk with their delicate new circumstance in order to secure the boon she desired and then some.

The Concierge of Crime had chosen the path which would benefit them the most, and was prepared to defend his choice if need be. He stood, moving to place his book on the nightstand, preparing for the battle he expected to come marching through the door at any second.

The vibrant blonde strode into the room seconds later with a crackling sense of foreboding, stopping Red in his tracks.

Their eyes locked in a heated stare and Rosalie hesitated for a moment before crossing the room in two long, smooth strides.

Raymond could all but see the wildfire raging just below her surface and momentarily wondered if she might slap him.

To his immense surprise, she grasped the back of his neck and crashed her lips with his.

Red stood frozen for a moment, stunned silent by her response. Time stopped, sound disappeared, and nothing existed there and then but Raymond and Rosalie. His mouth moved instinctively once able, deepening the contact without another thought. He felt her hands roaming the front of his shirt, wriggling his tie loose.

Rosalie nipped the man's bottom lip roughly, garnering a husky moan and a pair of firm, masculine hands on her hips.

The woman finally pulled back, breathing heavily, and tugged the man's necktie over his head.

Without a word, she crossed the room again, looped the silk on the outside doorknob, and closed the door forcefully behind her.

Raymond's pulse raced, aroused and enticed by this turn of events. His lover was immediately back in his arms, stripping him of his suit in a fevered frenzy.

Strong fingers roughly tugged the zipper of her dress, exposing the sensual dip of her back to his warm, roaming hands. Rosalie shrugged out of the garment, allowing the expensive silk to pool on the floor at her feet. Stepping out of her pumps, she left the articles in a heap and pulled Raymond toward their bed, her lips never leaving his.

Red's waistcoat and shirt were unbuttoned as quickly as possible and strewn carelessly in their wake, a grunt of arousal leaving him as his belt met a similar fate.

Rosalie's soft hand slipped beneath his waistband, stroking his shaft determinedly.

A deep groan rumbled through her lover's chest and his hips bucked into her touch, seeking more.

The woman responded by nibbling the length of Raymond's neck and sucking teasingly at one of his earlobes, sending a river of gooseflesh down his taut and aching body.

"Rosalie," he husked, holding her tightly to him and leaning into the hot little mouth which was sapping him of his last vestiges of control.

Rosalie knelt, taking his trousers and boxers down his toned legs in one swift movement, leaving them both in a puddle at his feet.

Red stepped out of them, kicking them aside. The siren kneeling at his feet demanded his full and undivided attention as he stood naked before her.

The man's cock hung thick and rigid between his legs, waiting patiently to be acknowledged.

Rosalie growled shakily, her wet, pink tongue flicking along the bulging length and earning a rapturous hiss from her lover. Her lips captured his head, drawing rhythmically on the sensitive crown.

A moan tore through his chest, the sound making the woman twitch with excitement. Raymond felt the spasm ripple along her body, still clad only in her delicates. His hand moved to her back while she took him fully into her mouth, pulling another hungry growl of pleasure from his throat.

A broad, warm hand smoothed down Rosalie's spine, effortlessly unclasping her bra and guiding the delicate lace down her shoulders to be balled in Red's fist. "That feels so damn good, little dove." He panted, dropping his hand to cup her cheek, following the movements of her mouth as she bobbed on his cock.

Rosalie growled around the stiff erection when his thumb and forefinger deftly pinched and rolled one of her nipples.

Red snarled at the vibration, pulling his lover from her pastime and lifting her into his arms.

The woman's silky legs wrapped possessively around his waist as she ravaged his mouth. Her hands clawed at his broad chest and shoulders, her need for him driving her every move.

Raymond fell onto his back on the bed with Rosalie in tow, a small squeak the only sound she made registering the new locale.

A pair of warm, large hands gripped the backs of her thighs, lifting her as though she weighed nothing and depositing her curvaceous frame directly over Raymond's face.

Rosalie barely had a moment to register the utterly ribald position they were in before Raymond tugged her panties to the side and set his wicked tongue to lapping at her sex.

Her thighs bracketed Red's head and the man was quite contentedly surrounded by her. After hours of intense negotiations between them, she was soaking wet and aching to be touched. This had been all he could think about during the tail end of their negotiations, having his little siren poised directly over his mouth and positively howling his name.

"Such a sweet, needy little pussy." He murmured silkily against her wet lips, "I've been dying to taste you all day."

Rosalie whimpered, lurching at the sudden intense sensation of his mouth on her sensitive sex.

His hands travelled her shaking, shivering curves, caressing every available inch of his lover in concert with his actions below.

The woman let out a wanton whine and arched as he palmed one of her full breasts, thumbing its nipple to a rigid peak while he continued his assault on her sex. A throaty moan transfigured into a desperate cry of pleasure when his hot, wet tongue went from fluttering deep within her to flicking rapidly over her clitoris.

Raymond's arms had circled her thighs, keeping her pinned against him no matter how much she writhed and squirmed. The woman could only quiver above him, unable and unwilling to move from his delectable mouth.

Rosalie felt her orgasm bearing down on her before she could even catch her breath, pulling her body taut, making her rut greedily against the sinful tongue between her thighs.

Raymond growled his approval, taking her clit into his mouth and suckling in a rhythm he knew would take her hurtling over the edge. His large hand landed on the rounded cheek of her ass with a resounding smack and a delicious sting. The action drew out the precarious, agonizing edge he had balanced her upon, delaying her release another millisecond as her attention was diverted to the now pleasantly burning globe of her backside.

Rosalie squeaked with the impact, following with a heady mew of delight as the sting settled in.

They were being more rough than they had ever been with each other as of yet, and both found they were enjoying this wilder, more debauched encounter immensely.

Raymond was rewarded seconds later with the loveliest cry of pleasure and the sweet taste of a lover satisfied as she came helplessly above him.

Red's eyes flickered up to his lover, taking in the incredible view from betwixt her silky thighs.

Her mouth was open and carrying the sounds of her release to the heavens, one hand buried in his short locks, the other clutched his hand to her left breast, where he was steadily teasing the tightly pebbled nipple.

Rosalie's hips bucked endlessly, the long, drawn-out mewls of gratification echoing in tandem with each ripple of her body against him.

Raymond rolled them gently, guiding his lover to her back so he could kiss his way up her trembling curves, reveling in the shuddering gasps fluttering from her lungs.

When he reached her radiant face, he kissed her roughly, demanding entry to her delicious little mouth.

Rosalie immediately gave in, opening to his tongue's exploration, mewling at the taste of herself she found there.

The ravenous kiss lasted several long moments, fueling the desperate need between them until they were feverishly clawing at each other once again.

Raymond wasted no time in snatching a condom from the drawer and sheathing his rigid erection, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in his lover's quivering body. He thrust forcefully into her welcoming heat, the impossibly tight tunnel gripping him perfectly.

The man snarled his desire, finding his playmate dripping with excitement, eagerly taking him right to the hilt. He set a bruising tempo they would both enjoy, ravaging the woman beneath him without pause, delighting in the weak cries of her surrender.

Rosalie moved with him, arching her hips to meet his every thrust, a despondent whimper leaving her lips as she sought completion.

Raymond's mouth traversed her chest, nipping and suckling here and there, eager to bring her to that edge again.

His lover's brow furrowed, her frame trembled its need, burrowing into his warm hold for want of comfort and stability. Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps against his neck, and Red recognized what was holding her back.

Rosalie needed the control, needed to feel the power she held over him. He had tilted the axis of their relationship, and she was fighting to find her feet again.

He shifted so she was astride him and his back rested against the polished black ebony headboard. His cock remained buried deep within her, thrusting up into the volcanic heat which continued to ride him endlessly.

"You did so well, little dove." He reassured, his gaze not once leaving the fathoms deep storm raging in her eyes.

Rosalie grasped his cheek with a needy whine, her other hand ghosting her fingernails along his scalp. She still didn't say a word, instead brushing her lips fleetingly against his, trying to convey what was roaring through her.

Raymond's chest swelled with a fierce emotion as a few choice moments from that morning flitted through his consciousness. It was pride he felt, pride for her and her success, but also pride to have her for his own. She was formidable and rare and there was so much that they could be together in this world.

Rosalie rode him hard with a white-knuckled grip on the stark black headboard, moving her hips at a momentum which all but ensured her leg muscles would ache for days. She could feel the tight slide of her body up and down his heated flesh, the turgid rod spreading her wide with each delicious thrust. She wanted to take him, possess him, to feel some semblance of control in this new dynamic he had created between them.

There were no words for what she felt for this man. Raymond had instinctively understood what she needed. She had been so very angry with him, so terribly upset by what she had initially considered a callous betrayal. Yet as their negotiations went on, she saw his actions for what they were.

He had known her, truly known her, and likewise had known she would have been twice as furious if he had simply handed her everything she desired. Instead, he had taught her an invaluable skill, had withheld the truth from her, yes, but ultimately it had been to solidify the lessons she had learned at his side.

Her success mattered to him, she mattered to him, and he had gone out of his way to ensure she knew it. The realization had her eyes stinging with tears.

This was not lost on Raymond, whose strong arms circled her undulating frame protectively.

When Rosalie finally spoke, her voice shook with pleasure and emotion. "You are so…so…Dammit," she snarled, trying to stammer out the words.

"I know, little dove, it's alright, I know." He soothed, continuing to meet her movements, driving them both closer to their peak. His hips kept their pace upward into her eager pussy, feeling her grip him, trying to keep him deep inside.

"You do know," she whimpered, her exhausted body buckling as his thumb dropped to circle the quivering bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. He knew and she knew, and everything was too much in that moment as her quaking form began to give in to her lover's passionate touch.

"Come for me, Rosalie, just for me." He coaxed in her ear, his toes curling with the effort of staving off his own climax.

The woman shivered, her shuddering moans ghosting provocatively against the man's ear. He heard her breathing rapidly accelerate, the point of no return pressing mercilessly in on her.

"Raymond!" Rosalie wailed as pleasure engulfed her from head to toe. Her head fell back, presenting her breasts to Red's willing mouth as she shattered on his aching cock.

The man rode her through the peak, one hand fisting itself in her honeyed curls, keeping her arched backward as she came, the other digging into the giving curve of her ass, holding her in a grip which would undoubtedly bruise as her clenching sex took Raymond forcefully over the edge.

A vicious moan of carnal delight tore through the room as Raymond found his release in his lover's fluttering depths. The slick heat massaged him wondrously, greedily pulling every last drop of pleasure from his pulsating shaft.

Red shook with each thrust, easing the last spasms of his climax into Rosalie's quaking frame.

They were both gasping for breath, flushed and riddled with love bites. A fine sheen of sweat clung to their bodies and speckled orange and pink from the late afternoon sun pouring through the windows. They quaked in each other's arms, holding one another tightly as they slowly came down from the incredible high.

"This is what we could be." Raymond husked, placing his hand to Rosalie's sternum, feeling the pounding rhythm of her heartbeat. "You and I, we could build our world as we see fit, could stack the deck in our favor when the opportunity presents itself. There's no reason our days couldn't be spent just like today."

Rosalie blinked up at him with those warm, dark eyes, the gold flecks in them dancing with their usual mischief. "I would love that." She whispered, wriggling deeper into his hold.

"But, Raymond?"

"Yes?" He asked, reaching up to brush her lips with his thumb, soothing himself with her continued closeness.

Her hands trailed his torso lovingly, calming his racing pulse with each caress.

"Don't tell me next time…I quite enjoyed the surprise."

A sly little grin lit her features, garnering an identical smile from her companion, who pulled her into a deep, burning kiss.


	22. Stress Management

_SoHo Safehouse - August 14th, 1999_

Raymond lay glowering at the ceiling of the master bedroom for hours.

His plane had landed at Teterboro around 6 that evening, with five hungry and exhausted passengers in tow. Despite a full stomach and a piping hot shower, sleep still remained elusive as the man tossed and turned beneath the sheets. He had counted the tin ceiling tiles a multitude of times, had followed their intricate swirling pattern from one corner of the room to the other until his eyes crossed, and yet his mind continued to spin endlessly.

Their little band of criminals was not due to be in New York for another month, but when Raymond was informed an important shipment making its way down the Hudson had gone mysteriously missing, he was forced to forgo the meeting he had planned in Ecuador in order to settle matters in Manhattan.

This theft was the latest in a string of moderately large acquisitions which had slipped through the man's fingers under questionable circumstances. Though the whole of his business functioned under questionable circumstances, this current array of hiccups was more than a little suspect.

In the past four months, Raymond had been outpaced on three separate shipping opportunities through New York. It wouldn't be such an issue if the shipping of contraband wasn't the very lifeblood of his empire. After the third outbid acquisition, Red had gone directly to the source, pre-negotiating a higher rate to ensure he got their business for the next several months. The first shipment for this agreement came to fruition twelve hours ago, before promptly disappearing.

The man couldn't shake the feeling these events were all related, and someone in the criminal underground was intent on attacking his business. With no knowledge of who could be behind the heist or the previous lost deals, Raymond had immediately altered course to New York, keeping everyone but Dembe, Rosalie, and Kate in the dark.

Kate Kaplan was now en route to Rosalie's Upper West Side apartment with Baz and Brimley, waiting on Raymond's word for what would happen next. The man needed to keep the breach as quiet as possible in order to secure the responsible party and uncover the full extent of the incursion.

Frustrated and on edge, Red glanced at the form of the innkeeper sleeping soundly beside him in the spacious bed.

His lover was, as usual, wrapped in one of his shirts. The blankets conformed to her shapely silhouette, cruelly leaving little to the man's imagination. His blood began to heat at the thought of Rosalie's sensuous body, a mere arm's length away.

The air conditioning in the safehouse was on full blast to chase away the heat and humidity which had swallowed Manhattan whole the evening of their arrival. The room was cool, the sheets held a nice chill to them, and Rosalie… Raymond knew she would be wonderfully warm.

The woman's blonde hair fanned out in still-damp waves on the pillow beside her. Raymond knew the strands held a bright and subtle scent, like an arrangement of exotic orchids, which he never seemed to tire of burying his nose in. The bouquet was doubly intoxicating when combined with the woman's natural pheromones, leaving the man nuzzled against the nape of her neck almost obsessively. Tonight Rosalie would also bear a lingering whiff of Raymond's bath products, as he had snuck into the shower with her shortly after their arrival.

Whether it was his aftershave, his cologne, or a hint of their shared pleasure, the man always quietly thrilled in picking up traces of himself on her skin. It stroked a primal, possessive corner of his psyche, triggering his insatiable libido.

As he lay there, Red hungered for that sweet spot where her neck and shoulders met, knowing it held all of the tantalizing scents he desired.

If he played his cards right, the man was certain he could add the sweet scent of her arousal to the blend as well.

"You're awake."

Raymond twitched at the sound of a gentle, drowsy voice.

Rosalie blinked up at him with half-lidded eyes, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

Neither of them were morning people. Their lifestyles were naturally suited to a nocturnal existence. Yet early morning had somehow become the witching hours for their passion in the past month. Something about the sun's golden glow and the silent, still safehouses made the pair ravenous. With everyone else asleep, they knew the likelihood of being interrupted was slim, allowing the couple to take their sweet time teasing and exciting each other, soothing their stress and restlessness in the best way available to them.

A slender hand wriggled out from under the sheets, caressing Red's bare chest in a comforting pattern, "You've been up all night."

The man didn't ask how she knew, he merely placed his broad hand over hers as though it were perfectly commonplace. "I fear this is going to be an ugly couple of weeks." He confided his concerns to her, his mind still churning in the background.

"You think it will take that long to sort out?" Rosalie asked, a tad surprised.

"To completely unwind the problem and repair the damage done? Yes, I estimate it will take at least two weeks to get my New York shipping operation back to where it was."

The woman closed the distance between them, curling up against Red's side. "You'll let me know what I can do to help?"

The man let out a vexed huff, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're already helping by setting up Kate and the others. I appreciate you keeping the issue from your security."

"Of course, but, should you need anything, just say the word."

Red smiled down at her. "Just say the word, hmm?"

The woman giggled, cupping his cheek and soothing her thumb over the stubble she found there. "Yes indeed."

"I may not be the most pleasant man to be around while all this is going on." Raymond warned, knowing how irritable he could get in these instances. "If I'm short or-"

Rosalie placed a finger to his lips. "I won't take it personally," she promised, "and I'll do my best to help alleviate that frustration."

Her lover's brows rose in question, "How do you plan to manage such a feat?" He mumbled against her fingertip, making the woman titter.

"Oh, I have my ways." She assured, nuzzling his nose with her own.

Damn, he loved it when she did that.

Raymond's mouth captured hers, one hand fisting the blonde curls at the base of her neck. His tongue moved languidly between her lips, stroking the sensitive corners of her mouth with fervor. The man diligently kindled the fire in her belly, enticing her to surrender to his coaxing.

Rosalie tangled with him, her tongue battling his for dominance as her fingertips carded through his already tousled hair.

Red kissed her senseless, till she was dizzy with lust and arching into his grasp. He kissed her till she burned with wanton desire, till no amount of physical contact was enough.

Nothing quieted his agitated mind like this woman wrapped snugly around his cock, and he positively ached to be joined with her again. His hips rocked forward, the straining erection jutting from his pelvis grinding against her curves, leading her to his way of thinking.

A soft sigh tumbled from Rosalie's lips, her body immediately responding to the incentive, hitching a leg up onto Raymond's hip and bringing the stiff rod into contact with the heated valley of her thighs. "We have to be up in a couple of hours." She reminded, kissing him again. Her teeth nipped his bottom lip before her tongue eased into the waiting cavern, flicking and swirling in a sensual rhythm while her hands roamed his back and torso.

"I'm content to play until then." Red husked, breaking the kiss long enough to pin his lover to her back. His five o'clock shadow nuzzled her cheeks and jawline, tickling her sensitive skin.

Rosalie giggled and squirmed, "I doubt you've slept a wink. You really ought to get some rest." Her hands half-heartedly pushed at his chest, attempting to waylay his pleasurable instigating. The woman gasped when Raymond tugged open the shirt she was wearing, baring her to the cool room and sending a couple of buttons tumbling amongst the sheets.

"Not until I've satisfied this damn ache."

The man nipped the length of her neck, pressing the rapidly hardening length of his shaft against her core for emphasis. His ravenous mouth trickled down her burning skin; his senses basked in the warmth of her lovely form and the delicate blend of scents he had been wistfully contemplating earlier.

"We really should go back t-" Rosalie began, her breath hitching mid-sentence as his lips descended on her breasts, eager to taste the voluptuous mounds.

Red nibbled the tender bud of an exposed nipple, sending a deluge of goosebumps down her frame.

"_Raymond_," she mewed, immediately giving up the fight and arching happily into his mouth.

The man gave a sultry chuckle, amused at how easily she cast aside any resistance. The woman practically purred like a little kitten as he toyed with her young, vital body.

"I hope you don't cave this easily when the feds inevitably come looking for me." He joked, taking the other nipple into his waiting mouth and flicking its tip with his hot tongue.

Rosalie's back bowed higher, desperate for more of his particular brand of torment. "Unless they have your mouth as an interrogation method, I think your secrets are safe with me."

She sniggered when Raymond's forehead fell with a thud against her sternum, a deep moan reverberating against her chest. The racy quip uttered in that breathy sigh was too much to take as far as he was concerned.

"You like my mouth, hmm?" Red demanded, his breath carrying over the nipple he abandoned, making the pink flesh tighten painfully.

Rosalie squeaked as deft fingers reached up to roll and pinch the little peak, making her writhe in delighted agony. "_Yes_," she couldn't hold back a whimper, his ministrations sending frissons of pleasure down to the very tips of her toes.

"Some people insist I use it to talk too much." He commented idly, enjoying the sight of her squirming wantonly before him.

The woman's fingers skated over his chest and arms with affection as she shook her head. "Darling, I _love_ the way you talk." Her tone was reverent while her teeth caught her bottom lip, toying with a coquettish smile.

Raymond grinned, thumbing the rosy pout from its captivity and claiming it for his own, the kiss-reddened flesh too plump and inviting to leave untouched.

Rosalie moaned, cradling his cheek and wrapping herself more tightly around him.

A deep grunt issued from the man's mouth, "You love it because I whisper dirty little things in your ear." He growled, placing his lips to the place in question and purring in that silky baritone which he knew would set her off like a shot.

His lover actually quivered, the excited shiver skirting her frame from head to toe.

Raymond chuckled triumphantly, leaning back to smirk at the very willing woman before him. "I knew it. My voice makes you wet, doesn't it."

It wasn't a question, and Rosalie couldn't have denied the accusation if she tried, not with a reaction like that. Yet she wasn't about to stroke his ego this early in the day, he would have to work for such blatant praise. The woman smirked impishly, refusing to answer him and denying any further attempts to kiss her.

Red always knew how to respond to such cheek.

"Perhaps you're right…" he feigned a yawn, "I haven't slept at all, maybe we should-"

The little growl which issued from Rosalie's mouth was nothing short of endearing, "No, no, no. You started this risqué escapade, I expect you to finish it."

The man above her shook with mirth, a boyish grin illuminating his features. "You're awfully pushy in the morning." He chided in a playful tone, easing his boxers down his legs.

A desirous moan could be heard from Rosalie, who wriggled closer to her lover for want of him. All notions of playing hard to get dissipated into the ether when her legs spread in open enticement.

Red groaned at the offering, a powerful pang of desire rippling through him.

Two masculine fingers traced the outline of the woman's slit, gently teasing the glistening pink treasure there. The digits twitched with his restraint, the appendages already restless to delve between those delicate pink lips. Raymond leaned forward, mouth poised at the shell of her ear, his warm breath ghosting over her sensitive skin.

"Already so wet, so needy..._lucky_, _lucky_ _me_."

Raymond sank a lone finger deep inside her and curled against the woman's g spot. A sweet, shivering gasp leapt from her mouth, making Red's cock pulse with need.

He steadily worked the digit in and out of the inviting channel, coaxing forth more of her slick arousal while he purred the most sensual, filthy little monologue in her ear. He added another finger, twisting and thrusting against her sensitive walls while she squirmed helplessly about beneath him.

"That feels so..._so_ good," she breathed, her mouth falling open when his thumb circled her clit. She came in a matter of seconds, her barely-awake nerves wholly unprepared for the intense stimulation.

In the past month, Raymond had learned one very important thing about these morning sessions with the woman before him: In the wee hours before the sun rose, Rosalie was doubly sensitive, easily aroused, and even more easily brought undone. The man relished these few precious hours of uninterrupted intimacy, and reveled in making his lover shatter in a multitude of ways before finally giving her what she desired most.

The last thing Raymond Reddington could possibly be accused of was being a selfish lover. The man delighted in bringing a woman pleasure; it was half the fun for him, watching enchanted as his slightest touch made them like putty in his hands.

His attention to this woman's needs always returned itself tenfold. When he finally took her, Rosalie's nubile young body was always thrilled by his possession, fighting eagerly to bring forth the same euphoric high he had caused within her. Whether it was the tight, loving cradle of her sex, the smooth stroke of her gentle hands, or the soft cushion of her delectable mouth, his lover more than delivered in the realm of Red's pleasure.

Raymond continued his diligent stroking of Rosalie's g-spot without pause, heedless of the shuddering moans and whimpers still cascading from her mouth.

He lowered his own to the peak of her sex, flicking his tongue gently over the sensitive little pearl there.

Rosalie bucked against the overwhelming stimulation, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Red snatched said hand and tugged it to the side, "No, little dove. Everyone's asleep and I want to hear _all_ of those lovely little sounds you make."

Rosalie's lungs heaved, panting her involvement as the man's tongue returned to its teasing, bringing her hurtling to the edge again. She couldn't hold back a guttural groan as her sex gripped the writhing digits inside her with unrelenting force.

"Oh… _oh_… _Fuck_!" The woman was powerless to the intense sensations occurring. The whole of her body and mind was bent to Raymond's whim as she twitched around him.

Red grinned wildly, thoroughly enjoying the telling flush which slowly bloomed on her chest and the breathy rush of her whispered cussing. He lowered himself slowly, letting his intent settle in her pleasure-addled mind.

The woman quaked, her last orgasm still sending powerful aftershocks along her nerve endings. A shaky mewl fell from her lips before he even reached his destination, driving the man into a frenzy.

Raymond blinked, his green eyes burning, as her feminine form quivered violently. He didn't wait until her body ceased its convulsing, he barely waited for her previous climax to finish before he plunged his talented tongue deep into her wet pussy.

For Rosalie, the world exploded when his lips met her sex. Her hands fisted the sheets above her head and a shimmering whine of pleasure accompanied the sweet taste of the woman's surrender.

Red lapped gluttonously at her tight little quim, fluttering and thrusting his tongue within, determined to coax out every drop of nectar residing there. He hadn't fully realized just how deeply he had been craving her until his mouth was teasing the snug space.

That delicious mix of wildflower honey and warm, wet arousal soothed him and riled him up all at once, quenching his thirst yet igniting an inferno of voracious hunger in its place.

Rosalie's voice was ragged as the man dutifully wound the coil inside her to an unbearable tightness. "_Please_," her hips lifted in supplication, rutting against the slippery, writhing muscle plundering her depths without mercy.

Raymond was captivated by the gesture, moving to cradle the small of her back in his broad hands, keeping her body elevated toward his relentless oral exploration. A snarl of arousal vibrated from his throat, feeling her pelvis tremble in his upturned palms. His fingertips dug into those supple curves, clutching her tight as her nails skirted the back of his head, gently but insistently holding him to his activities.

"_So damn sweet_," he groaned against her mound, teasing her with the wonderful softness of his lips and the prickling stubble on his chin and cheeks. "Such a delicious little thing… You have no idea how I've craved you."

The smooth litany murmured seductively against her most sensitive flesh was nearly her undoing.

"Raymond, I _need_ you."

The man had a terrible time denying her anything when she asked so sweetly.

Red's tongue writhed roughly against her clit at the same time his mouth latched around the peak, sending his lover careening over the edge with back-breaking force.

"Shit. _Yes_, right there!" Rosalie practically squealed as her hypersensitive body shattered once more. The blinding ecstasy made her toes curl, her weak legs shaking and closing in on either side of the man's head, lost to her pleasure.

Raymond grunted and growled, holding the woman in her passion until she collapsed, boneless atop the cool sheets.

Unable to wait a moment longer, the man lifted his heavy cock and hurriedly donned a condom before moving toward the soaked space between Rosalie's thighs.

The rock hard head of his penis disappeared into her waiting depths with a pop, garnering a delighted hiss from them both.

"Still so fucking tight," He grunted his approval, surging forward into the wondrous feeling of her slick heat enveloping him. The scorching channel still fluttered its previous release, rippling and clenching in a frenetic rhythm around the warm, thick rod spreading her wide.

The woman happily took his shaft to the very hilt, beckoning him into that secret sanctuary of unfathomable pleasure.

Raymond set a slow, steady pace, refusing to rush their journey to that euphoric high. He let out a shaky groan, enjoying every last nuance of the warm, wet utopia giving way to his driving force, only to follow his retreat with its greedy embrace.

"Just like that," Rosalie rolled her hips to meet his smooth thrusts, her pussy still quivering in its attempts to accommodate the man's girth.

"_Christ_, little dove, you feel so good." Raymond moaned, mesmerized as his thick, wet shaft disappeared between her folds and emerged soaked in her arousal. The bulging rod looked almost obscenely large in comparison to the taut, pink lips surrounding it.

His lover trailed her nails down the expanse of his back, making the man shudder and thrust forcefully back inside her. The woman bounced off his shaft with a husky yelp, her breasts jostling erotically with the rough movement.

"_Oh Ray_," she sighed her bliss, contentedly kissing and stroking every available inch of him as she arched into his every move.

Raymond's arms wrapped around her, reaching up behind her shoulders to thread his fingers intimately through hers. The proximity brought Rosalie's torso flush with Red's, the soft curlicues of the man's chest hair tickling and teasing her breasts and abdomen. The combination of sensations pulled a ribald, wanton mewl from the woman's lips.

"_That's_ a new sound." He husked his delight, breath hitching when the woman clenched his hands in hers, her spine bowing to keep flush with him.

"_More_," Rosalie pleaded in his ear, rolling her hips lustfully into his downstroke.

They made passionate love, greedily partaking in each other's most intimate virtues, careless of the hour or the house's other occupants. The feminine and masculine bodies entwined in a wild tangle of lips and limbs and trembling, grasping hands.

Deep gray eyes soon looked imploringly upon her lover, desperate to reach the peak he had been building since they woke.

Red gave in to that gaze, holding her at the perfect angle for his chest to continue teasing her desperately sensitive flesh, keeping time with the fat erection pistoning in and out of her until his lover simply couldn't take it anymore. Rosalie's breath came in short, sharp bursts and Raymond felt her grip him, fluttering along his length as ecstasy engulfed her once more.

"_God_, Rosalie, that's it." He groaned, his hips jerking as her tight heat gripped him like a vice, working to keep his throbbing shaft deep inside her.

"Raymond, don't stop," Rosalie's voice was a shaky gasp, the intensity of her pleasure quite evident as she pulled him close, ravishing his mouth and bucking feverishly into each thrust. Her moans and whimpers vibrated against his lips and along his tongue, adding a new dynamic to the man's pleasure.

"Take me there, honey."

Red was right at the precipice, every fiber of his broad frame tightening in anticipation. His balls ached to empty themselves deep inside the tight little sheath perfectly cradling his thick length.

Rosalie dragged her sharp nails the length of his powerful back, biting back a naughty little grin at the snarl of arousal which poured from Raymond's mouth.

The man slammed his cock deeper within her in response, all but demanding she come again. He was rewarded with a sharp feminine cry of surrender and the volcanic grip of Rosalie's quim clenching around him. The tightness combined with the warm, wet heat of her release surrounding his throbbing head, taking the man forcefully into Nirvana.

Drawn-out, animalistic growls of pleasure accompanied the man's orgasm. The sodden velvet wrapped around his cock milked him dry, endlessly massaging every hypersensitive inch.  
"Oh, _fuck_ yes… Harder, honey. _God_, grip me with that tight, _tight_ little body." Raymond husked as he came, the deep, lascivious groan rumbling loudly from his chest.

He felt Rosalie's exhausted frame meet his request, clutching him even more tightly as the molten space quaked and trembled her orgasm. The action forcefully pulled a broken rasp of pleasure from the man's lips as the last drops of his euphoric release were emptied into the condom.

The pair collapsed into each other's arms, struggling to catch their breath. They shivered and sighed their completion, slowly coming down from the incredible high.

Rosalie kissed along her lover's neck and cheeks, soothing his ragged breathing and showering him with affection.

Grasping the crisp white top sheet, the couple fell to their sides, still wrapped firmly about one another. The two held each other close, whispering their adoration while they quietly keyed down their racing pulses.

In the tranquil spaces after their morning lovemaking, Raymond had discovered one other important fact about his lover. She was especially tender and affectionate when basking in the afterglow.

In these peaceful minutes, Rosalie made Raymond feel adored, cherished even. As the golden specks of light would slowly flicker into the room, she would whisper softly to him, a lovely soothing river of warmth and caring trickling into the corners of his soul, setting him, too, alight with comfort and serenity.

Red hadn't admitted it to anyone, but these moments were becoming some of the most treasured parts of his days.

After such vigorous exercise, the man's eyelids were finally growing heavy. He fought the encroaching fatigue, choosing to kiss the woman in his arms instead, his rough palms sensually caressing the outline of her curves.

"Sleep, honey, I know you're exhausted." Rosalie's nose nuzzled affectionately against his, soothing every corner of him as she did so.

Raymond shook his head, "I love this part." His voice was a low, drowsy whisper, carrying like a soothing balm over the woman's skin.

"I won't stop," she promised, placing a gentle kiss to his temple before gathering him to her breast and cuddling him close.

Raymond snuggled into the warm hollow of his lover's neck, deliciously sated and basking in the soothing comfort of her embrace before sleep instantly dragged him under.

Later that morning, once the pair were awake and dressed, they meandered down to the townhouse's garden floor kitchen for a quick breakfast.

"Aren't you meeting with the Genovese family today?"Rosalie asked her counterpart as she set out an array of fruits, muffins, and condiments onto the lengthy butcher block island.

Raymond was seated in the breakfast nook's small green velvet booth near the far end of the kitchen, already ten words deep into that day's crossword. "Just one second, my dear, There's an eight letter word for ecstasy and it's just on the tip of my tongue."

"_Euphoria_?" Rosalie guessed without thought, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She could hear the rustle of the paper behind her as the man checked the word.

Raymond scowled at the page, then at Rosalie. "Agh! I almost had it." He bemoaned with an irritable shake of his head.

Rosalie snorted indelicately, clapping a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her mirth. She had forgotten how much the man hated having curiosities spoiled.

Puzzles, riddles, magic tricks, Raymond adored them all, and relished unraveling the enigmas for himself. If he couldn't manage to discover the truth on his own, he usually preferred to allow such things to remain complete and total mysteries. It was one of the more charming things Rosalie had learned about him since they began their relationship.

"I can hear you giggling over there." Red's deep voice accused from behind the paper wall, his tone of utter petulance oddly endearing.

The innkeeper worked to keep her expression neutral as she crossed the room to placate the grump. "I'm sorry, darling." She apologized, sitting delicately on the curled arm of the booth and carding her fingertips through his short hair.

"You're lucky you're so enchanting," he complained at length, still scowling at the crossword. "…Spoiling my fun."

Rosalie smiled when he wrapped an arm around her hips and pulled her into his lap, sequestering them both behind the paper's spread. His lips met her temple before his attention returned to the puzzle before him.

"Don't tell me, now. I need an eleven letter word for radiant bliss."

"_Mid-coitus_?" Rosalie offered with a cheeky wink, crossing her legs and nestling further into his hold.

Red smirked. The word did, _technically_, fit.

"If that's it," He warned in a dangerous tone, plucking the coffee cup from her fingers so he could steal a sip, "I'm going to bend you over my lap right here and you will sorely regret it."

Rosalie scoffed and rolled her eyes, but Red could tell the tiniest part of her squirmed excitedly at the prospect.

"Perhaps it's a phrase?" She continued undaunted, her expression one of utmost innocence. Rosalie had taken over holding the paper as he drank her coffee. The tip of the woman's nose brushed playfully against Raymond's cheek, "_Morning sex_?…" She kissed his freshly-shaven jawline and glanced back at the paper, "Nope, that's not it… Ooh! What about," she moved her lips to the shell of his ear, "_a_ _wet woman_?"

Red tutted with a mixture of indulgence and arousal. "It doesn't start with an 'A'." He sighed, thinking it an opportunity thoroughly wasted on behalf of the editors.

The sound of heavy boots could be heard descending the staircase, making their voices drop to a low whisper.

Dembe rounded the corner, smiling knowingly when he saw a copy of the New York Times standing open and upright, covering the top half of the breakfast nook. A pair of slender, female legs could be seen peeking, crossed one over the other, from under the paper. Two small feet in a pair of oxblood leather pumps dangled between a pair of masculine legs in neat beige wool trousers. He could hear the pair good-naturedly bickering back and forth, Raymond's deep voice carrying easily over Rosalie's as he eased the paper back from her grasp.

"Now, you behave yourself for five seconds, you little hellion. Eleven letters, radiant bliss, starts with an 'I' _and before you ask_, _**no**_, it's not '_intercourse_'... I already checked."

"_Incandescence_?" Dembe offered, not even looking up from the glass of orange juice he was pouring.

"Ugh!" Squawked Raymond, tossing the crossword onto the breakfast table with an exasperated sigh.

Rosalie nearly bit through her tongue to keep from laughing.

"_Et tu_, Dembe?" She teased with a wrinkle of her nose, turning to see the baffled look on her friend's face.

"What did I do?" The younger man asked, confused as to all the hullabaloo.

"You and I are in the dog house for spoiling Raymond's crossword." She explained, her bottom lip jutting out in a mock pout.

Dembe quickly pursed his lips, attempting to waylay a snort of laughter.

"Oh yack it up you cackling hens," Red snipped his pique, glaring at them both. It was obvious he wasn't going to enjoy a crossword anytime soon with two walking talking dictionaries in the house.

Rosalie flashed him a sheepish smile, "We won't ruin any more words, darling. Scout's honor." She gave him a passable three finger salute and lifted the paper once more.

Raymond heaved another grumpy sigh. "Perhaps later, I do have to meet with the Genovese family today, and if we don't leave soon we're going to be late."

"I will pull the car around." Replied Dembe, taking the opportunity to avoid Raymond's suddenly sour disposition. He placed his empty glass in the sink and headed for the exit, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Rosalie turned slowly to her put-out companion, "Are we good, or do I need to wrangle you back to bed and remind you why you enjoy my company _so very much_?" She nuzzled his nose with hers, and Raymond struggled to maintain his scowl.

His voice still managed a low, irritable grumble, "You two should be ashamed of yourselves, sending me off cranky and ill-tempered… Who knows who I might shoot out of sheer annoyance?"

The woman couldn't help the amused smirk which overtook her features. "You're kinda cute when you're grumpy." She extended the tip of her manicured finger to pet the dip of his Cupid's bow, which was pursed in almighty discontent. "You pout, not at all unlike a little baby ducky."

"Most people find me terrifying." Red warned, his glower still firmly in place. He was fighting a rather dour mood, though he couldn't deny that little finger stroking him in such a way was somewhat soothing.

Rosalie seemed to sense this, continuing undaunted. "_Terrifying_ ducky," she insisted in a menacing voice, "Big, _scary_ ducky… See? No matter how menacing the tone or the adjective, it all gets negated by the sweet, handsome, dare I say… _darling_, ducky."

Red rolled his eyes and smirked in spite of himself. "You're playing a very dangerous game, Rosalie."

The young woman flashed an impish grin and replaced her teasing fingertip with her lips. "Ah, but the question, darling, is if I'm _winning_ the game." She teased, trailing soft pecks along his jawline before stopping to straighten his tie.

"That remains to be seen." Raymond tutted, guiding her mouth back to his.

Rosalie kissed him slowly, deeply, reminding him of their spirited coupling a few hours ago. A soft moan escaped her when his tongue swirled against hers.

"Now I'm grumpy _and_ aroused." Red complained, his head falling back onto the plush velvet. With little to no sleep and this damn incessant need to bury himself inside her, the man was in for an unbearably long day.

Rosalie's face held an apologetic smile, "Don't shoot anyone and I'll give you a special treat."

Raymond's dark visage perked up slightly, "_Special_?"

"_Mhm_…" Rosalie hummed, her slate orbs dancing with their usual mischief, not once leaving her romantic partner's.

The pair eyed each other heatedly, the promise of a great many enticing opportunities hanging wickedly on the air, if only Raymond could behave himself for the next ten hours or so.

"Saints alive, you know you have a bedroom for this shit, right?"

Rosalie's brows knit together in annoyance at the sound of an intruder to their domain. "Seems you're not the only grump today."

Raymond turned carelessly toward the irritable visage of Rosalie's head of security and bestowed a benign smile. "Good morning, Horace! You're looking fit, were you doing push-ups this morning? It sounded like push-ups."

The bodyguard pursed his lips at the man's ebullient greeting, fixing him with a cantankerous scowl before selecting a few pieces of fruit and one of the available muffins.

Rosalie frowned at the surly man's back, already annoyed by his less than polite demeanor.

The altercation with Florian had left a strain on her and Horace's friendship which had yet to be repaired.

Though the man had apologized and the innkeeper was working to confide in her bodyguard as she used to, the task was proving difficult.

The young woman had learned a difficult lesson the day Otto Henschke betrayed her confidence, and as such, had committed herself to being much less lenient on such altercations with the people she employed.

Raymond felt for his young counterpart, understanding she had lost a confidant in both exchanges.

When the German bodyguard had first stopped traveling with them, Rosalie had told Raymond the Corsican gang was in need of Otto's assistance. However, in the course of their time in Norway, she had confessed the truth, that Otto had been divulging details of their life on the run to Florian.

Raymond couldn't blame her for removing the man from her operation, and had assured her he would have done the same thing had he been in her shoes. Sharing privileged information was detrimental to any criminal enterprise, but for one like Rosalie's, it was an absolute death sentence. She simply couldn't take that chance.

However, the issue was not so easily solved when it came to Horace. The man was her right hand, bearing an extensive knowledge of the woman's empire and offering a great deal of support and administrative functions. He would be impossible to replace, and most importantly, the man was one of Rosalie's nearest and dearest friends.

The woman struggled with what to do in regard to her guard, consulting extensively with Raymond and Dembe, who were her only real confidants on the matter.

Both men maintained that though Horace could have handled the exchange more tactfully, he had been trying to keep her safe, and as such, should be given a every benefit of the doubt

Rosalie agreed, taking their advice to heart, and had since thrown herself into healing their divide between her and Horace.

This, however, was proving to be easier said than done.

Horace's disposition was still sour at best, and his irritable outbursts were starting to gnaw at the remaining threads of the woman's patience.

It was not uncommon these days for Rosalie to request Ted take up his shift early. The night guard was akin to Switzerland, creating a neutral territory between Rosalie and Horace, while also being quite friendly with both Raymond and Dembe. Rosalie did not enjoy sidelining her head of security in such a way, but she also wasn't willing to subject herself or her companions to Horace's nasty moods either.

The man in question took his food and headed for the first floor, leaving the two fugitives in solitude once more.

Red took the opportunity to privately make a request of his counterpart. "Could I ask you to meet with Kate today? If you can find a way to meet her alone, that is."

Rosalie nodded, "Of course, that's not a problem. Why do you need me to meet with her?"

"I fear I'm going to be needing her services more often in the near future." He confided, "I need you to initiate whatever preparations you need for her to begin moving along with us."

"Wow… I can't say I'm not surprised." Rosalie's expression filled with concern, "Are you sure everything's alright, Raymond?"

"For now." He insisted, but her soulful gray eyes soon drew the truth right out of him.

"It's just… Ever since Patrick died, I've had this gut feeling something is circling my boat. I need to get ahead of this issue, Rosalie, before it gets out of hand."

The woman held his gaze for a long beat, deciding the explanation certainly sufficed.

"Understood, I'll meet with her this afternoon and get things in motion."

Dembe reappeared in the doorway, signaling the end of their time together.

Raymond kissed the woman once, twice, then regretfully guided her from his lap. A large hand gently lead her by the small of her back, only releasing her once they reached the front door.

"Dinner, tonight?"

The woman smiled warmly up at him, plucking his fedora from his grasp and setting the item carefully on his head. She allowed her fingertips to trace from the sides gently to the front of the brim and back, never pulling, merely ensuring the fit was correct.

"How about we stay in? I'll cook, you need an early night."

Raymond beamed fondly at her, allowing a kiss to his cheek before he and Dembe stepped out onto the sweltering stoop. Both men waved their goodbyes before quickly entering the blessed cool of the air condition sedan.

Raymond couldn't ignore the losing battle Dembe was fighting with a buoyant grin. "What?"

"I like Rosalie." Dembe stated simply, offering no further insight than that.

Two hours later saw the innkeeper and her guard making their way up 10th Avenue, heading for 78th street. The car ride was fairly tense after the disgruntled exchange in the kitchen that morning.

Rosalie simply couldn't understand what caused the man's continued complaint. The two of them had discussed the Norway debacle at length and agreed the matter as a whole could have been handled better. Rosalie and Florian were back to being thick as thieves a mere week after the altercation, yet the relationship between the woman and her guard remained stagnant and at times, almost hostile. She wasn't certain what more she could do to placate the man.

The guard's brow furrowed when they reached the upper west side apartment. Because of the gag order Reddington instilled on this diversion, to Horace's knowledge, no one was staying in this location.

"You're staying out here." Rosalie told him once the vehicle had come to a complete stop in front of the building.

"Why?" Horace didn't like the sound of this, not at all. She never met anyone alone, why would she do so now?

"Rosalie, what's going on? I know you're not involved with his missing contraband, so what gives?"

"I'm meeting with a new client." She answered somewhat honestly, plucking her black folio from the seat beside her.

Horace's expression was cautious and a tad morose. "I always go with you when you meet a client."

"Not today you're not." Rosalie answered curtly, opening the door and stepping out onto the tree-lined street. She could feel the ungodly heat radiating off of the concrete, combining with the stifling humidity in the air.

Her bodyguard stepped from the town car, "Rosalie-"

"_No_, Horace."

"I-" He let out a frustrated sigh, "I know, things have been tense between us."

Rosalie whipped around, her expression now incredulous. "That's a monumental understatement, Horace. I'm trying like hell to put this disagreement behind us, but you're not making it any easier by continuing to be a gigantic ass." The woman's tone was firm and impassioned, but her friend could hear the pain hidden carefully beneath.

"You're supposed to be my oldest friend, my confidant. Horace, how do I trust you with my life and a great deal of the workings of my empire when you seem to hold me in such contempt?"

Horace stepped back at the accusation, his voice a shocked whisper. "I don't hold you in contempt."

"Then what do you call your recent interactions with me? Because this sure as hell isn't the way we've worked together in the past." The woman had finally reached her limit, "What happened, Horace? Just tell me, so at least I can have a prayer of fixing the issue."

The hulking man had no response for her, merely holding her misting gray eyes with his fathomless black ones.

"I'm staring down the barrel of a massive expansion. The Mandarin's penthouses are ceding to my control in just over a week. A week, Horace, and my network is going to almost double in size. All the while, I feel as though I'm doing this alone, because I don't want to ask you for help. My right hand, the person I'm supposed to be able to go to in all things, with all things, a man in whom I now cannot bring myself to confide, because of his behavior."

"It's not you I'm angry with, it's _him_." Insisted Horace, his heavy brows arched in supplication.

"_Raymond_?" Rosalie snapped, "For Christ's sake, Horace, I can't keep up with you. One day you're pushing me toward the man, the next you can't seem to stand him. What is your issue with Reddington? Is there something I've completely missed? He told me the two of you talked out your differences after the fight with Florian, how, _how_ is this still a problem?"

"He's careless with you." Argued Horace, finally giving voice to what was bothering him. "He's careless, and that's something I didn't account for when I pushed you into his arms. I regret that, now."

Rosalie's demeanor turned very dark indeed.

In the past month, she had grown incredibly close to her romantic partner, which was only to be expected. She felt she knew the man well, better than Horace did, at the very least, and was learning more about him every day. The fugitive could be accused of many things. He was a tad self-indulgent, irreverent at times, occasionally a bit of a scoundrel, certainly, but the last thing Raymond Reddington could be accused of was being foolhardy. Least of all with Rosalie. Horace had no idea what the woman's lover was truly like, and he never would. The immense care and caution Raymond exercised with her was one of the carefully guarded corners of the man meant for Rosalie alone. She didn't need to explain or defend the man to anyone.

"You don't understand him at all, Horace. I would hope you'd reserve your judgement of his character until you make a sincere effort to get to know him, or at the very least take into account I wasn't born yesterday." Her voice was a low, acidic hiss, _"I _know he's not careless, and that should be enough to cease your disgruntled crusade."

The woman turned on her heel and strode into the tall apartment building, muttering a thank you to the kindly doorman who had politely averted his attention from the bickering pair while they loudly aired their grievances.

Horace exhaled a fuming sigh, heading for the coffee shop across the street to wait out the woman's meeting.

_208 Sullivan Street - Greenwich Village, Manhattan_

A sharp black town car parked quietly and inconspicuously on a side street of Greenwich Village's Washington Square Park.

Raymond Reddington and Dembe Zuma disembarked the sheltered cool of the vehicle, taking a slow walk down Thompson Street as they had been directed. Both men wore sunglasses and hats, seemingly to shade them from the sun's unrelenting glare.

Raymond was in his usual fedora, the brim pulled low over his rose-tinted sunglasses.

Dembe's pate was covered by a pale beige trinity cap, a pair of opaque tortoise shell shades obscuring his eyes from onlookers.

The pair made the turn onto Sullivan Street, nonchalantly heading in the direction of an unassuming storefront. The facing held no signage, no address, no identifying markers of any kind. The only feature denoting this was the place they were looking for was its all-black facade. Everything from the sidewalk cellar doors to the front entry, even the windows, everything was painted a stark, matte black, making the place look decrepit and abandoned.

This was the carefully guarded headquarters of the Genovese crime family, known as "The Triangle Social Club".

Raymond and Dembe glanced surreptitiously over their shoulders as they crossed the street, ensuring they had not been followed.

Upon reaching the flat entryway door, Red reached up with a heavy fist and knocked strategically on its face.

An echoing silence hung in the air for a few moments, interrupted by the occasional car horn or emergency responders' siren. Finally, the door opened just wide enough to cast a strip of light over a lone blue eye, settled in a very tan, wrinkled face.

"You got an invite?"

"Dominick Cirillo vouched for me." Raymond replied in a low rumble, careful to move his mouth as little as possible.

The eye blinked before retreating into the black void behind the door.

The outsiders quickly stepped through, closing the door behind them.

Yellow lights flickered sporadically in the dark before fully illuminating, casting the room in a sepia glow.

Two massive guards stood on either side of the man with the blue eyes, who was short and had a neatly clipped mustache.

Reddington sighed his boredom, removing his hat and sunglasses and spreading his arms wide.

The hairier of the two guards stepped forward and patted him down, removing the fully loaded Browning pistol from the small of the man's back, the Colt 1911 from the hidden compartment in his jacket, the knife tucked near his ankle, and a host of extra clips which were neatly lining various pockets.

The opposite guard conducted the same pat down for Dembe, coming up with a similar arsenal of weaponry, plus a set of brass knuckles.

The two giants cast suspicious looks at the pair, forcing Red to reply with a dry, roguish chuckle.

"I'm an international fugitive, boys, you could hardly expect me to walk around Manhattan carrying a pea shooter."

The wheezing laugh of a three-packs-a-day smoker could be heard issuing from a small table in the back lefthand corner. "_Sta bene, sta bene_!" The crackling voice called in the low light, ushering the club's security to the side.

As the guards parted like the Red Sea and the tiny blue-eyed man took his leave, the dark, understated room stretched before Red's eyes.

A vintage-looking bar occupied the space to his left, other than that, the club had only two tables, one heavy wooden family-style one occupying most of the room's right side, and a smaller, round table standing nestled in the back left corner.

This smaller table was occupied by five burly mafiosi, all nursing some kind of liquor despite the early hour.

"Red." The same gruff voice, belonging to Dominick Cirillo, called to the Concierge of Crime, beckoning him forward.

Dembe followed, taking his place at Raymond's back a short ten feet away.

"Dom," greeted Red, reaching to shake the older man's hand.

Raymond had met Dominick Cirillo by sheer happenstance at a wild party in Nell's Nightclub during his early years as a criminal. The younger man had enchanted the girlfriend of one of Genovese's capo's right into the nearby coat closet for a little _one-on-one_ time. The capo found out and would have killed Reddington were it not for the other man's quick fire tongue, claiming some sort of lie regarding a lost coat. The elder mafioso had thought the whole altercation an absolute riot, and instantly took a shine to Reddington, if for nothing but his impeccable ability to talk himself in, and out, of a bind.

"Gentlemen," Dominick turned to the table at large, making a sweeping gesture toward their newcomer, "This is Raymond Reddington, he's a friend of mine and Chin's."

The older man gestured to each of the men in turn, starting with a long-faced man on Raymond's left. "Saverio Santora, but we call him "Sammy Black" he's an underboss along with…" He turned, pointing to a small, portly man bearing a seemingly permanent pouting expression, "Venero "Benny Eggs" Mangano."

Both underbosses reached out to shake Raymond's hand, giving him a curt nod before Cirillo continued down the line.

"Little Larry" Dentico was introduced next. He was a short, slight fellow with a receding hairline, and acted as the current consigliere. Then there was Joseph Zito, a stoic man with baleful brown eyes and tightly pursed thin line for a mouth. He was the Genovese's acting boss.

Once introductions were completed, the men wasted no time in getting down to business.

"What can we do for you, Reddington?" Joseph Zito was straightforward, cutting to the heart of the matter with little ado.

Raymond began from the very beginning, "I've encountered a problem in my organization which needs to be quietly unraveled. Three separate acquisitions for various contraband coming into New York were outbid at the last moment in the past three months. I didn't think anything of it as those things tend to happen when bidding for shipments. However, I've encountered a larger problem which must be tended to, and quietly." Red crossed one leg over the other, setting his hat on his knee. "I secured this supplier's business for the next several months to ensure I wouldn't lose out during the bidding process, but the very first shipment from said agreement disappeared once it hit the Hudson."

Benny Eggs scowled suspiciously at the young fugitive. "You've missed out on three of these deals, you said? You finally managed to seal their business and the shipment goes belly up?"

"That's correct," Raymond confirmed, allowing the gravity of potential water bandits on the Hudson to firmly sink into their minds. "I'm a little concerned this could be a symptom of a much more pervasive issue. I came here in search of information."

The mobsters looked grimly at one another, seeming to agree.

"We think you got a squeaky wheel, Ray." Dominick was almost certain of that fact.

The younger man's lip curled in amusement. "Mob speak always tickles me. You're indicating there's a rat in my midst?"

"If these deals were killed in their infancy and then the product followed once you managed to seal one, there's got to be someone divulging information from the inside." Sammy Black insisted with a grave nod.

"If by some miracle it's not a hole in your boat causing this theft then we're all going to have a bigger problem on our hands. Genovese shipping operations can't be compromised, if we can help, we should." Little Larry Dentico saw through to where this issue could become a problem for the family and readily leapt in to advise Zito.

Raymond could tell he had garnered their collective interest. "I don't have a single lead on this other than the general area of where the shipment disappeared while en route to my warehouse in Brooklyn. None of the paperwork is askew, none of my employees seem to know what went wrong. All I have is the location."

"What about the courier?" Asked Joseph in a deep, graveled baritone.

"Gone, along with the shipment." Raymond divulged, "The courier's not a suspect anymore because his was the body fished out of the water in Jersey City this morning."

The information had come to Raymond in the drive over to the Genovese's headquarters, registering as little more than a drop in the enigmatic bucket that was this heist.

The mafiosi murmured quietly to each other in low, rumbling Italian, discussing whether they could or should lend assistance. The debate didn't take long,

"We're happy to help, Ray, for everything you've done for the family in the past. That being said, you know we're gonna need Vinny's approval first."

Raymond's expression lit with a delighted grin, though his gut roiled in impatience. "I take it I'll be making a quick trip to Rikers, then?"

_78th Street Safehouse - Upper West Side, Manhattan_

Kate Kaplan peered through the apartment's peep hole at the sound of a polite knock.

Raymond's business partner stood on the other side, waiting patiently. She was dressed in a fine gossamer dress in a pale beige, a gold metal belt nipping the garment inward at her waist. The diaphanous material was light and airy, perfect for keeping cool on a blistering summer's day.

Kate's lips purse disapprovingly at the sight of the woman. Kaplan was almost certain her employer was bedding the shapely young thing, and the cleaner found the very idea more than a little inappropriate. Rosalie was a good ten years the man's junior, but more so, she was inexperienced in just how dark Raymond's world could be. Kate couldn't fathom what the two could possibly expect from each other, other than a messy split once the young woman got too close for the man's comfort.

Kaplan had grown fond of Raymond these past few years, but she also knew the man was a bit of a hound when it came to women. Carla and Katarina were ample evidence of the fact, without even beginning to dredge up the array of women Red had chased in the two years Kate had been working for him.

The elder woman just couldn't see this business ending well, and what was more unnerving for Kate was the seemingly endless struggle to unearth the younger woman's motives. The Øllegaard girl definitely wasn't a gold digger, she was wielding an empire nearly as expansive as Reddington's, so she certainly wasn't hurting for money. To Kate's knowledge, the woman wasn't power-hungry either, which begged the question, what did she want, and how would being involved with Raymond help her get it?

Kate had no answers, and thus had not raised any concerns with her employer regarding his expected involvement with the innkeeper. The only thing Kaplan could do was watch and wait, which would be much easier to do now that Raymond wanted her moving along with them.

The cleaner could only hope Rosalie Øllegaard would not become a distraction in Raymond's quest to protect Masha. Katarina's daughter needed to remain first and foremost in the man's mind.

Kate opened the apartment door, answering with a terse, "Hello."

The young innkeeper peered thoughtfully at the woman who had chased her across several South American countries a mere year ago. The thought brought a nostalgic smile to her face, which was immediately squashed by Kaplan's suspicious glower. "Raymond wished for me to meet with you to discuss your moving with us from now on, do you have a moment?"

The woman stepped to the side with a sardonic sweeping gesture. "I was informed as much, come in."

Rosalie hadn't had many interactions with Raymond's cleaner, but what little she gathered from the woman indicated one lone truth.

Kate Kaplan did not like her, not one bit.

The young woman wasn't distraught over this development, as she had spent very little time in the woman's company up until now. She supposed she was simply going to have to get used to her rather frigid presence and curt manner of speech.

The idealist in Rosalie chimed that she and Kate would get along swimmingly, once they got to know each other; however, the realist in her debated the older woman was as likely to become her friend as Raymond was to become celibate. The very thought made the young woman's lips twitch in amusement.

Kaplan maintained her disapproving stare as they settled at the polished table in the home's quaint French farmhouse kitchen. "Shall we?"

"Absolutely," Rosalie nodded, pushing aside her misgivings and delving into the task at hand. "Since you are going to be moving around with us, I thought I should give you an overview of what my network does for its clientele."

The older woman did not question, merely waved for the innkeeper to continue.

"Right, well, the nice thing about living in my network is your day to day needs are catered to, in their entirety. This means everything from groceries, laundry service, linens, toiletries, unregistered firearms, bug-out bags, hand grenades, you know, all those pesky little things that make a house a home."

Rosalie beamed at Kate, who made no response to her joke other than a spare nostril flare.

The younger woman chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment before continuing. "When I say the network caters to your everyday needs, I don't mean it provides you with run-of-the-mill accoutrements. Your every preference will be met, exactly as you wish, which is why I'm here. I need to assemble the necessary information in order for my team to start building a list and standing order of staples for your box, which will travel ahead of you to each location. This negates the need for excessive luggage and random store runs, which in turn keeps the likelihood of my safehouses being discovered very low."

"_Box_?" Kate questioned, not understanding what the woman was referring to.

"Oh, yes," nodded Rosalie, "Each of my top tier clients has a box or crate pertaining solely to their needs and preferences. My property managers prepare every safehouse for every client before their arrival, and during that time the boxes related to said client are assembled in an offsite storage facility, brought to the location in question, and unpacked, ensuring everything required for their stay is waiting when they reach the safehouse."

Kaplan nodded her understanding, settling back into her chair. "Where should I start?"

Rosalie smiled brightly, "…How about the kitchen?"

The cleaner and the innkeeper hammered out the details of Kate's needs over the next couple of hours, dipping into every possible need the woman could have whilst on the run with Raymond.

As the pair were winding down the last of Kate's requirements, a boisterous voice could be heard all but yelling in the foyer.

"I'm telling you, Baz, I'm too old for this sightseeing crap. It's hotter than a fur coat in Marfa out there and the streets, my God, they're filthy, and there's too many tourists, and my back hurts. Between my arthritis and my bursitis, I can't take it!"

Ted Brimley shuffled into the bright kitchen with an indulgently smiling Baz in tow. Both men were carrying white bags bearing the scent of something greasy from a local food cart. The older man halted his diatribe upon seeing Rosalie, holding up his treasure with a broad grin. "Chili dogs!" He bellowed, making the young woman nearly snort with laughter.

Baz beamed conspiratorially at the innkeeper, catching her deeply amused glance. "How's it going, Rosie?"

Rosalie stood to embrace each man in turn, truthfully pleased to see them both. "Other than this ungodly hot spell, I'm just peachy," she teased, "and yourself?"

"Can't complain," the bodyguard chuckled, subtly tilting his head at Brimley, who was more than happy to complain at length to anyone who would listen.

The young innkeeper narrowed her eyes playfully at Raymond's head of security as Ted nearly took up his tirade again. "I'm glad to see you're enjoying the local fare, Ted!" The woman raised her voice a touch so the man could hear her, effectively diverting his attention to something other than the abysmal weather.

_SoHo Safehouse _

It was early evening by the time all parties had returned to the safehouse.

The wretched humidity had damn near soaked Red through, persuading the disgruntled man to change shirts once he arrived. As such, Rosalie found him re-dressing upon entering their bedroom.

She placed her firearm on the console table near the door, stretching the tightness from the small of her back. "Where are you off to so soon?"

Raymond did not meet her questioning gaze as he finished buttoning his shirt. "I need to meet with the boss of the Genovese crime family in order to secure their help."

Rosalie stepped in front of him, picking up the abandoned tie and looping it around his neck. "I thought that's what you were doing this morning?"

The man shook his head, his brooding eyes softening a touch as she adjusted the length of silk to fit. "I met with the underbosses, the consigliere, and the acting boss this morning, but they won't make a move without consulting the don and I need his reach to figure out where my shipment wandered off to and who was responsible for the theft."

"Can I help?" She asked, tying a neat Windsor knot before turning down his collar. "My criminal upbringing was similar to the mafia. Corsicans are big into family, they have mutual respect, and I do remember Florian talking about the Genovese in the past."

Raymond considered her for a moment, "I don't see why you couldn't come along, as long as Ted comes with you." The man's sharp green eyes caressed her as he picked up her discarded firearm. "Besides, if the boss isn't feeling particularly generous, a beautiful mobster's daughter might go a long way toward swaying him to my side of the isle."

Rosalie let out a tinkling laugh, a soft blush illuminating her cheeks. "Who's the boss?"

"_I'm the boss_." Red growled, pulling her roughly to him and holstering the firearm at the small of her back.

A sweet feminine squeak fell from her lips as she was tugged into his all-encompassing sphere, making Raymond give a husky growl of arousal.

"Have I told you how much I like this side of you?" Rosalie breathed excitedly, completely open to the man's instigating.

Ted poked his head into the room with an apologetic grimace, "Sorry to interrupt, but Kaplan just arrived saying your boat is ready at the pier?"

"A boat?" Rosalie wondered aloud, "Where exactly are we headed?"

Raymond gave Ted a short nod, indicating they would be out shortly. He turned back to the woman with an excitable expression. "We're going to meet Vincent "The Chin" Gigante. He's had several aliases, you know how the mafia love their nicknames. Personally, I loved "_The Enigma in the Bathrobe_", though, I only ever called him Vinny."

Raymond pulled a faded photograph from the lid of his open suitcase. The picture showed a slightly younger Raymond Reddington standing between two obvious mob members. He pointed to the tall, bulky man on the left. "Vinny has been the Genovese crime boss since the 80's, He feigned insanity for years to stay out of jail, but they finally caught up to him two years ago, hence his difficulty in meeting."

Rosalie smiled at the photograph, wondering just how much mischief Raymond had to have gotten into with the crime boss and his compatriot for the man to have kept this particular photo all this time.

"Vinny has been running the Genovese family from the inside. He's footed a couple bribes to give himself time to meet with me at the edge of the prison fence."

"If he's been in prison, how is he still running the family?" Rosalie asked, handing back the polaroid.

"Vis a vis his son, Andrew, who is meeting us outside Rikers. Thus the need for my boat."

Rosalie turned, appalled the man would even consider going to the island prison. "Raymond you're on the FBI's most wanted list, you can't be serious. They'll arrest you without a thought!"

Her counterpart sniggered merrily, shaking his head and beaming for her concern. "It's highly unlikely. Besides, I'm not going _inside_ the place. Just on it."

His tone assured her there was nothing to fear in making the trip. His cavalier attitude gave her pause to consider why he would feel so calm setting foot there.

"The guards at Rikers are more crooked than a back road, aren't they?" Rosalie sighed, realizing what must have him so amused.

"Like you wouldn't believe." Raymond agreed, tucking a large wad of unmarked bills into his suit pocket. "They're easily bribed, and with both Vinny and myself footing the bill for a little privacy, I can assure you the plan is quite safe."

Rosalie nodded, still a little nervous for their safety.

"My business has the propensity to be a bit more…rough and tumble than yours. Are you sure you're up for this?" Red's expression was reassuring, her decision wouldn't bother him either way.

Rosalie nodded eagerly. She had certainly known Raymond's business was occasionally of a more dangerous nature, she had been with him through the whole issue in Munich after all, and the ordeal with the associate he'd lost in June. It was simply counter-intuitive for any criminal to willingly go near a correctional facility of any kind. "No, I definitely want to go."

"Okay, you'll stay with Ted, Kate, and Baz. Toddrick, and Wallace are also coming along, they'll flank us, so we'll be protected on all sides."

Rosalie gave an excitable smirk. "Oh, good!" she chimed, "Todd and Wally, Wally and Todd, I enjoy those two."

Raymond shook his head for her mood, Toddrick and Wallace were a pair of bouncers Raymond had picked up over a long stint in Los Angeles. The ex-navy officers made exemplary bodyguards, and were usually Red's top choice when it came to extra hands.

Rosalie had met the duo in passing twice, once in Vancouver and again in Mexico City. The guards had enjoyed the young innkeeper's quick wit, and she had taken a shine to them both almost immediately, taking it in turns to give them each a good ribbing whenever she saw them.

Thinking he was in for a boisterous evening, Red ushered Rosalie out into the living area so their group could finalize their plan and get moving before dusk settled.

The "boat" Raymond had docked on the Hudson was more akin to a floating house, making Rosalie wonder how on earth they _wouldn't_ be caught on this detour to Rikers Island. Even so, she spent the better part of the ride wandering about the vessel's interior, eagerly exploring the lavish accommodations.

Red smirked knowingly as the woman examined her surroundings. He could tell the yacht was a bit more boat than she had imagined, and the man made a mental note to take her for a spin sometime, just the two of them, so the woman could really see what she was made of.

The trip took a little under an hour going perfectly within the speed limit. At least the captain knew not to draw too much attention to themselves. Once the boat docked quite carelessly on the island's main slip, the fugitives and their security detail made for the gate leading off of the docks.

The guard keeping watch cast a suspicious glance at Reddington, who slipped the wad of crisp $100 bills beneath the window. The officer's eyebrows rose, he took the cash, swept a furtive glance around the area before opening the gates. "You've got thirty minutes."

Raymond nodded his understanding, striding through the open entry and heading for the sprawling fence on the right side, where three men could be seen walking the perimeter.

"Vinny!" Red beamed at the old mafia boss, flanked by two mafiosi in similar prison outfit. The don's stride was smooth and measured, unhurried as he came up to the prison fence. He still held an air of power and sharpness to him, though the short stubble speckling his chin and cheeks was tinted a snowy white and the skin around his eyes was wrinkled with age.

"_Mon apologia_," He grunted, "Sorry for the runaround, Red. With Tony Salerno in prison, and Dominick having that goddamn heart attack I've had to find me another front boss, business is moving painfully slow."

"I understand the circumstances, and appreciate your willingness to meet. How is the U.S. Justice System treating you?"

"Mary and Joseph, they're moving me to the goddamn hospital in Springfield of all places." Vinny rolled his eyes gesturing carelessly toward one of the guard towers, silently indicating who 'they' were.

"Well at least you'll be reunited with a few old friends." Raymond reasoned with a placating grimace.

Vin shrugged his shoulders, thinking of the host of other mafia underbosses and consiglieri in Springfield due to Sammy "The Bull" Gravano's testimony against John Gotti. "Fat lot of good they'll do me now," he groused before catching sight of Raymond's blonde companion. The fellow's demeanor brightened a little.

"Well, well, I know you." He flashed dark brooding eyes at Rosalie, his tone sly, "You're Florian Armel's little hell raiser."

Both Raymond and Rosalie gaped at the mob boss. Their security detail and Kate all turned questioningly toward the innkeeper.

"I did a fair bit of business with the Corsicans when I was outside." Vinny explained with a wave of his hand, "Good people, got the right priorities."

Rosalie smiled genially at the elderly man, stepping out from their little band of criminals. "_Florian manda i suoi saluti._"

Vin's white eyebrows quirked upward at the phrase, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "_Non sapevo che i corsici insegnassero alle loro donne l'italiano?_"

"There was a good-looking Sicilian boy among Florian's underbosses." Rosalie confided in a conspiratorial tone, "One of the Salerno boys, he taught me a few things."

The don roared with laughter, "You know the family then, Fat Tony's kids?"

"His nephew," Rosalie conceded, smiling at Raymond's confused expression. "I didn't realize I knew any of the parties involved until he mentioned Tony Salerno." She clarified, answering her counterpart's questioning gaze. "His nephew came up from Sicily a few years back to work with Florian, I knew him in passing."

Vinny peered knowingly at Reddington's taut visage, watching as the man slowly relaxed. "Not to worry, Red, Fat Tony's nephew's got nothing on you."

The young fugitive ran a hand sheepishly along the back of his short hair. "Yeah, you know me, I'm a real prince, Vinny."

The whole group sniggered, breaking some of the tension.

"I've heard you lost a bit of merchandise up the Hudson." The mob boss smirked, tucking his large hands in his trouser pockets.

Red's attention returned to the purpose of their meeting, "I have. I'm in need of information as to where the shipment was taken and whom is responsible for its departure." The Concierge of Crime watched the don's expression carefully, chewing the inside of his cheek to keep the tension from showing.

Vinny met his stare with his own, unblinking as he spoke. "Lucky for you, the responsible party was careless. My people ran the tags on the boat carrying your product and a contact with the Jewish Mafia traced it to an abandoned dock all the way up in Sleepy Hollow. It's now with a caporegime escort on its way to your warehouse down in Sunset Park."

Raymond's brows lifted in pleasant surprise, a sigh of relief escaping his chest. "That's very much appreciated, Vinny."

The old boss waved him off, "As much as you've assisted my family's movements over the past couple years, it was the least I could do." The man's expression turned dark, "Now, the real problem. Youse got a rat, Red."

Raymond nodded curtly, "Did your people manage to identify the thief?"

Vinny's head tilted, a commiserating sigh falling from his dry lips. "One of my capos identified him as Howie Bukowski."

The twitch of Red's right eye was the only movement he made acknowledging the name.

Howard Bukowski was a foreman for Reddington, working a great deal of the man's shipping processes in New York. He had been a loyal associate for six years, up until this point.

Vinny's expression was placating, "You know the Mafia, Red, we don't agree with eating alone… I have guys looking to make their bones who would be happy to take care of this disrespectful _bastardo_ for you, cement shoes and all that."

Raymond fought a darkly amused chuckle at the suggestion. "I'm grateful for the offer, Vinny, but I'm old fashioned. I clean my own house."

Vincent nodded his head thoughtfully, "_Cosa Nostra_," he murmured, "I always liked that about you, Red. My people will keep their eyes peeled for this Bukowski character. If he comes across our path, we'll hold him for you."

"Thank you, Vinny."

Vinny Gigante flashed a rare smile, nodding his head to both Raymond and his counterpart. "Anytime, Red, anytime."

"'Fat Tony' Salerno's nephew taught you _Italian_?" Raymond asked once they were back aboard the boat, his tone riddled with amusement. He simply couldn't withhold the question any longer, the curiosity was eating him alive.

Kate and their security settled in the lounge as the engine started, drowning out the pair's conversation.

Rosalie pinched the bridge of her nose, "It was three, maybe four years ago, but yes, he did... Among other things." She peered sheepishly at him, trying to hide her mild embarrassment over the matter.

Raymond shook his head in mock disappointment, "Of all the things, Ms. Øllegaard. Whatever did Florian have to say?"

The woman's eyes went wide, "Florian doesn't know a thing," she hissed, "and it better damn well stay that way, Raymond Reddington."

The man smirked, looking forward to taunting her with this newfound information for a while yet.

"Or should I say… _Red_?" Rosalie countered, having never heard anyone refer to him by that nickname before.

"It's an old nickname." Raymond defended, shaking his head at her equally triumphant smirk.

"It _might_ actually be better than 'the Concierge of Crime'," Rosalie murmured to herself, not meeting his eyes. "Raymond "_Red_" Reddington."

The man's eyes bored into her, surprise written clearly in their depths. He watched the woman worry her bottom lip, the Manhattan high rises glittering in the large window behind her. "_Really_?" He snorted, incredulity coloring the question. "_That_ nickname does it for you?"

Rosalie turned, batting her eyelashes bashfully up at her lover, her cheeks flushing a bright pink. "Yeah."

Her gray eyes turned to saucers at her own brevity and the husky catch in her throat. "I mean… It's simple, it's tough-sounding, it's…" She cleared her throat and primly smoothed the hem of her skirt, "It's kind of, well, _hot_, if you ask me."

The woman didn't dare meet her lover's gaze, knowing full well he was wearing that predatory smile which always threatened to swallow her whole.

As the boat began chugging back down the East River, Raymond decided to get a start on this issue with Howard Bukowski. The foreman would soon realize he was a marked man, as such, there was a finite window to catch him before he skipped town. Getting to him before he left Manhattan was crucial, and Red needed to call in a number of favors to cut off Howard's exit strategy.

With this in mind, Raymond reluctantly headed for the secluded office below deck, leaving Rosalie to be entertained by the antics of Baz, Toddrick, and Wallace, burly comedians for hire.

The fugitive could feel the stress and anxiousness closing in on him with each step toward his office.

Much to his surprise, Rosalie came scurrying into the room shortly before Red closed the door. He lifted a confused glance, silently questioning why she wasn't upstairs with the rest of their group.

The woman had felt the palpable tension encroaching upon him upstairs, brought about by the unearthing of who betrayed the man's trust. Raymond was seething as he left for the solitude of his office, determined to quietly assuage his fury.

The man shut the door to the room with a snap, locking Rosalie in with him.

"Do you need to deal with Howard right this second?" The woman's voice held a studied nonchalance which piqued Raymond's curiosity.

"Not right this second, no, but certainly within the next hour or so." He watched her like a hawk, noticing the small flush on her cheeks and the smooth swish of her hips as she casually paced before the heavy desk.

"Why?"

The blonde stopped in her tracks, batting those long lashes up at him. The dark call of her heated gaze more than enticed the man before her. "I promised you something _special_, if I recall correctly, and you seem... _awfully_ tense."

_What a decadent turn of events._

Red hadn't expected her to approach him about said promise until they were well within the confines of their bedroom. But this...oh now _this_ prospect was truly special.

Rosalie flashed him a small, coy smile, pleased to see he was very much intrigued by the idea.

"You know what I would really, _really_ enjoy?" Raymond purred, prowling toward the curvaceous little figure perched in front of his desk.

Rosalie held his wolfish stare with her own sweet, beguiling one. "Tell me."

"I would love nothing more than to take you hard and fast, right here." He growled, tapping two thick fingers on the shining desktop behind her, "It's been a long-standing fantasy of mine. I've spent months plotting how to get you into this very predicament."

Rosalie grinned, turning slowly and fanning her palms out onto the heavy leather blotter covering most of the desk's face.

"Well, darling, I'm quite content to fulfill that fantasy." Her thighs spread sensually for the benefit of the hot-blooded male behind her, the skirt of her dress hiking just a hair, showing another inch of silky thigh.

"God damn," Raymond swore reverently, checking to ensure the door was locked before closing the distance between them.

The man pressed the length of his cloth-covered erection against her firm backside, and Rosalie arched into his touch, the movement hiking that damn hem just a little more.

Enthralled by her incentive, the man placed his hands on the backs of her thighs, easing them painfully slowly up the heated flesh, lifting the soft, diaphanous material of her dress and allowing it to pool around her narrow waist.

Red's mouth went bone dry as he found her perfectly bare beneath her skirt. It was an uncommon occasion, to see the woman without garter straps or nylons of any kind. It seemed the insufferable heat had caused the woman to forgo undergarments entirely.

He could tell by the stiff peaks straining against the thin material of her dress that she wasn't wearing a bra either. The knowledge sent a painful pulse of arousal to the man's already aching cock.

He unzipped her dress, thrilling in the confirmation of her complete lack of lingerie.

The woman rose so the garment slid down her shoulders, then pulled her slender arms from the sleeves and allowed the remaining material to pool at her waist with the lower half of her dress.

Raymond's hands surged forward to cup her breasts, bringing her torso flush against his as he pinched and rolled the excited nipples he found waiting for him.

"Little dove," he choked, "You seem to have misplaced certain essential attire."

"I'd check your jacket pocket, if I were you." She cooed, wiggling her pert little ass against him in open enticement.

Raymond immediately patted the front of his jacket, feeling the soft outline of a bit of fabric in one of the many pockets.

The man had thought the panties she donned that morning were white, but as he hooked a finger around the lacy item in his pocket, he was proven wrong. The small scrap of silk and lace was in fact an incredibly pale pink. As somewhat of a connoisseur of this woman's delicates, the man knew this was a rare color choice for her. The lacy straps had cradled her ample bottom beautifully, framing the smooth globes in a delicate, feminine curve.

"Christ…" Red swallowed, working to assemble a coherent sentence. "How did you get these in there?"

Rosalie grinned slyly, "While you were changing shirts at the safehouse."

The man chuckled his approval, tucking his prize back in his jacket pocket. "You've been running around my boat bare as a dream all this time?"

The little blonde head nodded wickedly.

"You are an unmitigated," Red traced the tip of his nose along Rosalie's jawline, "clever," he pressed his warm lips to the sensitive shell of her ear, "_filthy_ little delight, aren't you?"

Rosalie gasped and squirmed against him, trying to persuade the felon to her way of thinking.

"_Shit_." He kneaded the taut globes of her backside, satiating some of his rapacious need.

The man didn't hesitate to tear off his tie and pitch his jacket and waistcoat on the chair beside him.

"Tell me you have a condom." He husked, disengaging the buttons on his shirt, only to realize he had come to the party unprepared.

"_Jacket pocket,_" Rosalie giggled in a sing-song voice, rising up onto her tiptoes and leaning further forward on the desk.

Raymond looked hopefully at her amused face, reaching one hand back into his jacket pocket, slipping through the soft silk of her panties and finding the square in question.

"Thank God." He breathed an emphatic sigh of relief, immediately dropping his pants, tearing open the packaging and donning the condom as quickly as possible.

Rosalie arched into his outstretched hand, spreading her legs wide in anticipation.

Raymond lined himself up with her drenched core and slid home in one long, smooth stroke.

"Holy shit," Red swore, his body rejoicing at being reunited with its hot, wet playmate.

A feminine squeal of delight leapt from Rosalie's mouth as he forcefully bottomed out, pinning her bent frame to the heavy desk beneath them.

"Oh my _God_, that's good."

The sultry little purr brought a smile to Raymond's mouth. He kept his thrusts nice and deep inside the slick warmth, slamming himself into its welcoming grasp at a bruising pace.

Their pent-up arousal and undeniable stress-induced tension made their coupling all the more pleasurable.

Raymond's thick shaft continued to plunge into Rosalie's giving sex at a breakneck speed, releasing those emotions which had been gnawing at him all day.

The woman delighted in his wanton enjoyment of this little idiosyncrasy. She readily arched into each thrust, pushing back into his forward momentum, driving his rock hard head deeper and deeper inside her.

Red snarled at the lustful movements, thrilling in how she sought him. He was having the time of his life, buried to the hilt in his beautiful lover, who was eager to give him the rough, passionate fucking he desired.

"This room is soundproof." He divulged, pulling the woman back by her long hair and bringing her flush and upright against him. He had seen her damn near biting her bottom lip through in the attempt to stifle her delectable moans.

"I can coax all my favorite noises from you without anyone being the wiser."

The man felt her sex start to ripple, the delicious pang of pleasure coiling tightly in her belly as he stroked her sensitive core endlessly.

She was going to come for him.

Red cupped her cheek, keeping her mouth within reach of his own. Her lips trembled against his, the petal soft skin brushing tantalizingly against his own.

"What has you trembling, honey, hmm?"

"Right. _There_." She panted, gripping the back of his neck, her nails scraping his scalp, making shivers erupt along his powerful frame.

Her lover continued without breaking his rhythm, slamming his hips forward, rough, demanding, rocking her small frame with his force.

"Little dove, I have needed you all damn day." He confessed, easing her back to the bent position over his desk. His hips never ceased their pistoning movements, driving her further and further into a pleasure-induced delirium.

Her feet, still clad in her leather pumps lifted from the floor as her knees bent. Her back bowed taut as the precarious razor's edge of her ecstasy held her in the tense position.

"Oh, _Fuck_ R-" Rosalie's breath forcibly hitched in a way which made Raymond climb the walls, sending him into a litany of low, graveled pleas to his lover.

"Come on, honey, say it for me. Use those lovely lips and purr that new word you've learned. I can't deny I've been _dying_ to know what it would sound like coming from your beautiful mouth at a moment like this."

Rosalie's eyes were black with lust, her pupils blown wide as she took in the man's request.

Ecstasy slammed in on her from all sides without warning, forcing the word from her lips without another thought.

"_Red_!"

Rosalie cried out loudly, a carnal, husky sound which left her entire frame buckled with exhaustion. Her pussy clenched tight with her release, the blinding heat and quivering embrace pulling Raymond under with her.

The man couldn't deny the effect she had on him as that name uttered in that perfect feminine cry tore him over the edge. His towering form arched as he was gripped and massaged by the overwhelming heat.

His body gave in to her coaxing without a prayer of holding back, his hips snapping forward at an almost inhuman pace, drawing forth heavy streams of his orgasm from deep within his groin.

A carnal, snarling exclamation hurtled from the man's throat as the peak overcame him, leaving him on a completely new plane of euphoria.

The pair shook with pleasure, slowing their movements to a smooth, tandem rocking motion as the ripples and spasm of their spent muscles slowed to sporadic aftershocks.

Rosalie's fingertips were splayed wide on the desk's face, her lungs pulling in heaving gasps against the smooth leather of the blotter.

Raymond had pitched forward, covering her shapely figure with his broad, comforting warmth. His shuddering breaths ghosted over her neck and ears, the sound obscenely erotic despite the woman's completely satiated state.

"There are no words..." Red rasped once he was able to speak. He threaded his fingers with Rosalie's, bending to place a soothing kiss to her earlobe.

"I have no words which can express how much I thoroughly enjoy your particular brand of stress management, my dear."

_To Be Continued..._


	23. You Don't Mess Around With Red

Continued...

Kate Kaplan had gone below deck in search of the lavatories when she happened to pass Raymond's office.

She peered suspiciously at the closed-off space, wondering if her employer and his young counterpart had disappeared within. Her curiosity did not have to wait long. A feminine squeal of surprise could be heard from behind the polished door, accompanied by a deep, roguish chuckle.

Kate rolled her eyes and tutted, "Saw that coming."

Dembe had meandered below deck, looking for his compatriot. Seeing her poised in front of the office door, he lifted a lone, quizzical brow.

"I take it you knew?" She asked, jutting her thumb at the door's facing.

He had just taken a closer step when he heard Rosalie scold Raymond in a voice which could only be described as…satisfied. Dembe's mouth split into a wide grin, "We should give them their privacy."

Kate followed him back upstairs, her tone still disapproving. "How long has their dalliance been going on?"

Dembe shrugged his shoulders, "A bit."

His coworker was not amused with his brevity. "How long is a bit? Does Raymond really think this is wise?"

"She's kind, Kate," Dembe's expression was sincere as he turned to look at her. "You will see once you start moving with us, she's a good person."

Kate exhaled a quiet, skeptical sigh, "For all our sakes, I hope you're right."

Raymond fell exhaustedly back into the armchair in front of his desk with a sated huff, his limbs heavy and useless from their enthusiastic detour . His gaze refused to leave the vision of his lover bent double over the heavy cherrywood workspace, the occasional tremble of her thighs stroking the man's already vociferous ego.

He leaned forward, running a rough hand up one of the supple limbs, soothing the muscle fluttering beneath before shifting upward to the woman's hip and the tight, rounded cheek of her backside. His fingertips spread wide, flattening his palm against the arch at the small of her back. A broad thumb circled the two dimples situated at the base of her spine, making her squirm enticingly.

Rosalie could feel his breath still falling in hot bursts against her skin. She attempted to wiggle away from Raymond's wandering mouth, but to no avail. A sharp set of teeth could be felt leaving a love bite on the sensitive curve of her right cheek.

The action stung and tingled, resulting in Rosalie's shocked cry and Raymond's lewd amusement, which had unknowingly alerted Kate not only to their location but also gave her a good idea as to what they'd been up to.

Raymond grunted and soothed the spot with his thumb before rising and dropping a trail of kisses up her spine.

"Naughty boy." Rosalie chastised him in a breathy, decadent voice, the words trickling from her lips like warm honey.

Red grinned to himself, kissing her shoulder once more before setting himself to rights.

Rosalie eased herself off the edge of the desk with a contented sigh, shimmying the skirt of her dress back over her hips and slipping her arms through the short, flowy sleeves. "Feel better?"

Once his shirt was buttoned and his waistcoat draped back over his shoulders, Raymond clasped his hands around the small of her back. "Immensely."

His fingers worked the minuscule zipper of her dress upward, shielding himself from the tempting swath of silky skin.

Red's chest did indeed feel lighter after this little bout, and the daunting task of handling Howard Bukowski seemed a touch more manageable now his head was also clear.

"I've got to get the shipping ledgers squared away and roll the bank accounts associated with each before we get back to the pier. Once those are taken care of, I'll have a couple hours before I need to start cutting off Howard's escape."

Rosalie wrapped her arms about his neck and sighed ruefully. "So much for an early night."

Raymond sing-songed his head, "It's par for the course at this point, another sleepless night won't kill me. I'll need to brief the rest of our little band as to what happens next as well."

"Why don't we have them all stay for dinner?" Suggested Rosalie, adjusting his slightly skewed collar. "Everything is ready for a nice quiet cookout in the garden, and I can send Ted to pick up Brimley once we reach the dock, that way you can meet with them all at the same time. It's safe, discrete, and allows you to speak freely without fear of being overheard by the wrong parties."

Raymond considered the idea for a moment, then nodded his approval. "That would be excellent. You're sure it's not too much trouble?"

Rosalie waved off his concern, "I'll commandeer Dembe and Toddrick, they're both handy in the kitchen. You handle your end, I'll rally the troops."

Red released her with a warm, grateful smile. "Thanks, Rosalie."

The woman simply kissed his cheek in response before she left him to the handling of Howard Bukowski.

Returning to the main deck, Rosalie sought out Kate Kaplan and their multitude of security. "Would you all mind joining us for dinner?"

The room at large turned in her direction, Baz feigning hesitation, "Are you cooking?"

Rosalie lifted her chin, "Of course I am. I thought we'd grill tonight, the humidity finally seems to be letting up and the garden can hold all of us easily. Raymond wants to meet with everyone regarding next steps, and the safehouse would be the most convenient locale."

Todd and Wallace flashed almost identical grins, "Count us in!"

Kate and Baz nodded their agreement, the latter adding, "What about Ted?"

Rosalie directed the request to her own security. "Teddy, dear, would you mind making the trip up to 78th and picking up Brimley? I'm sure he wouldn't want to miss out."

Wallace's hand bolted into the air, "I'll tag along with Teddy!"

The two men smirked in mischievous camaraderie as Rosalie's guard whipped out a satellite phone to request another car be brought to the pier.

Ted and Wallace split off at the pier to pick up Brimley while the others loaded into two separate town cars heading for the safehouse on the edge of SoHo.

Red was still in the middle of rolling the bank accounts with Frank Parker, the main accountant for his shipping operations. As such, he remained on the phone throughout the car ride and immediately headed to the home's office once they reached the safehouse.

Leaving the man to confer with his bankers, Rosalie, Dembe, and Todd set about getting dinner started.

The innkeeper set out a large charcuterie board for their guests, filled to the brim with razor thin italian cold cuts, black and green olives, heirloom cherry tomatoes, mozzarella pearls and sharp curls of parmigiano reggiano.

While the group nibbled at the assortment, Todd had steaks and chicken quarters marinating, and Rosalie and Dembe prepared a variety of vegetables from potato wedges dressed in olive oil and rosemary to thick rounds of zucchini, summer squash, red onion, and carrots brushed with a tart citrus vinaigrette..

Once everything was ready for the grill, Rosalie opened the glass doors between the farmhouse kitchen and the cobbled stone patio, where a thick wooden table stood waiting for its occupants. The polished pergola provided a touch of cover from above, its criss-crossing bistro lights already glowing a soft yellow in the waning sunset.

Her two cohorts followed her outside, each bearing a tray or bowl and a set of tongs.

Todd happily took on grill duty, freeing Rosalie to check on the rest of the group.

Much to her surprise, as she moved back toward the bustling kitchen, Horace stepped out onto the patio.

His face held a contrite half-smile, and in his hands he carried a bundle of clean linens and cloth napkins. Horace dearly wanted to bury the hatchet with Rosalie, and was silently offering his help as a peace offering after their earlier argument.

The young woman smiled back at him and patted his cheek, taking the linens and beginning to set the table.

The pair worked in amicable silence, settling the pristine white tablecloth evenly on the large table and folding a napkin in every place setting.

Dembe came out with ten sets of flatware just as Brimley, Teddy, and Wallace arrived, the foremost announcing his arrival in his usual, deafening way.

Horace, Rosalie, Todd, and Dembe all looked up at each other with equally amused looks.

Todd's voice cut through the noise, only slightly muffled by the steady hiss of the grill. "Rosie, I'm putting the steaks on now, I'd say you've got fifteen minutes before everything is ready."

"Thank you Todd, Dembe, sweetheart, would you let Raymond know?"

He nodded and left the patio, acknowledging Brimley and the two other bodyguards before making a beeline for the office upstairs. Reaching the landing, he heard the dulcet tones of his employer's aggravated voice coming from the open office door.

"I know, I know, Frank. I've got the situation under control, everyone in New York is going to be looking for this guy before the night is out. The good news is he didn't steal any money and the accounts have all been rolled so he can no longer access them." Raymond looked up as Dembe knocked on the door frame and poked his head inside, informing him dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes.

Red gave a curt nod, "Listen, Frank, I've got to go. Thanks again for handling the financial logistics, I owe you one." The man hung up the phone and sighed wearily, meeting the eyes of his guard, which were calm and understanding.

"This is going to be hell, Dembe."

Dembe stepped into the doorway, seeming to look right through the man before him. "I do not disagree, this was an unexpected blow. I don't understand what would make Howard change his allegiances seemingly out of the blue. Out of all of your foremen, he is the one I would have least expected to turn."

"You and me both," Red conceded, the worry evident in his tense features. "We can't dwell on the why just yet. Howard must be apprehended before we can begin investigating his motives."

"What makes you so certain he isn't already in the air?"

Rosalie had appeared in the doorway, leaning her head against Dembe's shoulder and listening to their somewhat dismayed conversation.

"I would've heard if he had fled. There would be evidence of him leaving the city, surveillance, sightings of some kind. He knows better than to seek criminal passage anywhere." Red saw Rosalie was confused at this and expounded, "No one would touch Howard for fear of what I would do once I discovered their involvement in letting one of my employees purchase blackmarket transport."

Rosalie nodded, "Where do we go from here?"

"I've got enough time to grab a quick bite and meet with everyone before we'll need to start dipping into the underground. I have to make absolutely certain Howard can't move an inch off this island without someone on him."

"Can I watch?" Rosalie asked in a breathless voice.

Raymond grinned slyly at her, "You little voyeur."

The woman courageously fought the wide smile tugging at her lips.

She certainly wasn't about to deny the accusation. Rosalie was damn curious about his side of their world. Red already knew so much about her business, yet much of his day to day dealings were still a complete mystery to her.

"It would be good for you to learn what it's like, if Dembe and Ted are willing to play hosts with the others, that is."

Dembe nodded his agreement, glancing sidelong at the blonde head on his shoulder as he divulged another bit of important intel. "Kate knows about you two."

Rosalie scowled and stood upright, "Well we haven't exactly been keeping it a secret...how did she find us out?"

"The boat."

Dembe allowed the succinct statement to guide them to the correct conclusion.

Raymond and Rosalie blinked at each other, realization dawning.

The latter felt her face burn hot as she blushed profusely. "Christ, we are not doing well at this, are we? First Florian, now Kate-"

Red snorted, "We're 0 for 2 on big reveals, 0 for 4 if you count Dembe and Horace."

"…and Ted makes 5," Dembe murmured, adding insult to injury.

The guilty parties turned toward him with identical looks of exaggerated betrayal.

"...6 including Stratos." He added, undeterred.

Raymond and Rosalie broke at the same time, causing all three of them to fall into peals of laughter.

"Ugh…" sighed Rosalie, gesturing a finger between Red and herself, "We suck at this. How do you want to handle Baz and the others? Are we letting them in on the change to our dynamic?"

Raymond stood with an amused grin, "Hell, we've been doing so poorly, let's say nothing and see how long it takes them all to find out."

"My money says Brimley will be last." Intoned Dembe, turning to head back downstairs.

"Oh, that's easy pickings, sweetheart." Rosalie turned to follow him, giving his shoulders a squeeze before leaning into his ear. "The real question is…will it be Todd or Wallace who blurts their surprise in the middle of dinner?"

The two men chortled their amusement, flanking Rosalie on either side as they descended the steps down to the home's garden level.

Raymond's mind stopped its exhaustive spinning for a brief moment to take in the view which greeted him at the bottom of the staircase.

The troop of some of his favorite and most trusted acquaintances were all making their way into the garden, beer bottles and glasses of deep red sangria in their hands.

The patio was large for a New York abode, offering a small outdoor kitchen complete with a refrigerator, a beverage fridge, and an ice machine tucked beneath the soapstone countertops. The yard's brick walls were covered in a lush, green Boston ivy which Raymond knew from experience turned a magnificent orange and red color in the fall.

The pergola held strings of small, round bistro lights tucked amongst dangling fronds of climbing wisteria which had made its way up the structure's corner post and spread whimsically over its roof. The beautiful plant with its pale purple flowers was another testament to Rosalie's indomitable green thumb, creating a fragrant and tranquil sanctuary hidden from prying eyes and ears.

The table outside was draped in a clean white linen and heavily laden with grilled fare. The trays of deliciously charred meats and vegetables from which their security was loading their plates reminded the man how very hungry he was.

Rosalie had always maintained their bodyguards were all growing boys who needed plenty to eat, and that philosophy was on full display as she flitted around the open space, ensuring everyone's drinks were full and their plates were being loaded with copious amounts of food. Her dark eyes looked up in search of him, a hand silently gesturing toward a large basket on the countertop beside him.

Raymond lifted the light bundle, seeing a couple dozen sweet and savory dinner rolls nestled within. He carried his parcel out to the garden, forgetting himself for a moment and holding the basket firmly in one hand, playfully refusing to let go until the woman bestowed a warm, gentle kiss to his lips. Only then did he relent and take his place at the head of the table.

Rosalie moved to the seat across from him as though nothing were amiss, passing the basket up the line and catching Baz's ear-to-ear grin.

"You and the boss, huh?" He kept his voice low, though it was now obvious from their staring, the majority of the table had caught the exchange between their employer and the innkeeper. Raymond's head of security was deeply amused and not at all surprised by the turn of events.

Rosie was a lovely young woman, and she and Reddington had a great deal in common, not the least of which was a shared criminal prowess and a razor sharp intellect. In Baz's mind, the two seemed a natural pairing.

In fact, Baz, Todd, Wallace, and Brimley had started taking bets after a brief stint in Toronto convinced the men there was a bit more than a business relationship going on between the two.

"I knew it!"

Wallace's voice exploded above the din, drawing all eyes to that end of the table.

"Dammit, Wally." Rosalie grumbled aloud, pulling out a fifty dollar bill and thrusting it into Dembe's suddenly outstretched palm with a glower.

Raymond too pulled a fifty from his pocket, handing it to the bodyguard whilst shaking his head at Wallace.

Dembe was terribly pleased with himself, sporting a wide smile as a flurry of cash exchanged hands the entire length of the table, several bets having apparently been settled in the short blip of time.

Once it came time for dessert, Rosalie and Toddrick set out glistening bowls of balled watermelon, honeydew and cantaloupe which had been bathed in a chilled bath of champagne and triple sec. Alongside these stood grilled pineapple spears brushed with cinnamon and honey, a tray bursting with an assortment of plump berries, and neat little bowls of chocolate sauce and fresh sweet cream for dipping.

Talk quickly turned to the task at hand, with Raymond explaining the truth behind their visit to New York for those who hadn't yet found out.

"We will likely be in New York for at least another week," he concluded with a glance around the group, "I will be in need of your assistance in apprehending Howard, and he must be captured alive. There's no telling how deep this rabbit hole goes until we get ahold of him."

He turned toward their extra security, "Todd, Wallace, I'm going to have you making a number of rounds tomorrow in Brooklyn. See if you can't ferret out if Howard was acting alone or if one of my other employees was in on it."

Toddrick and Wallace nodded their understanding, assuring Red they would be at the warehouses early the following morning.

"Kate and Baz, I want you keeping ears on the underground. I'm convinced any of the players in transportation would come to me if Howard tried to high-tail it out of Manhattan, but all the same, I want you to see what you can garner from the chatter."

Baz raised his glass in acknowledgement, turning to discuss the approach with Kate.

"Brimley," Raymond turned toward the portly man beside Baz, "You're officially on-call. The moment Howard stops being cooperative, I'm going to need you to squeeze every drop of intel you can from him."

"You got it, Ray!" Shouted Brimley, impaling a potato on his fork with a little more vigor than was strictly necessary

This left Dembe, Rosalie, Ted and Horace.

The fugitive turned toward the four, "Dembe, you're obviously with me. Ted, Horace, I may need to borrow your charge to force a few hands in this exchange, otherwise it's business as usual for you two."

Horace turned to Rosalie, "That'll be a nice change."

The young woman grinned at the joke, incredibly pleased to see the man's demeanor seemed to have turned around.

"Now we're all aware of our respective duties, I'm afraid I must return to my own." Red stood from the table, bussing his plate in the process, "Rosalie?"

The woman nodded, turning to the room at large, "Please feel free to stay as long as you like, there's plenty of drinks and extra food in the refrigerator. My property manager and his team will take care of the clean-up so please don't worry about it."

The rest of their security watched amusedly as the pair made their way back into the house, leaving their plates by the kitchen sink before ascending the stairs in tandem.

Todd turned to Wallace and Ted, counting out his ill-gotten gains from the bet on Red and Rosalie. "Well, this was the most profitable dinner party I've been to in a while."

Upstairs, Raymond stepped back into the office with a weary sigh.

Rosalie had gone to their room for a moment, returning clad in one of his shirts, a stiff drink in each hand. She set his before him and patted his cheek fondly before taking the seat across from him. "Where do we begin, love?"

"First, I need to cut him off and cauterize the wound. I've started the process by segregating the financially important aspects such as the shipping ledgers and bank accounts. However, now I need to make sure he doesn't get out of the city. There's no telling if Howard knows he's been found out yet. I sent a pair of associates to the warehouse and his home after we left Rikers to see if they couldn't get a tail on him, I'm hoping one will have good news."

At that moment, one of Red's burners rang.

"Yeah."

Rosalie could hear the voice clearly on the other side.

"It's Harris, do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Red rolled his eyes, "Either, just spit it out."

Harris launched into a recount of what he and his partner John had uncovered. "He left the building three hours ago. Fortunately, from what we can tell he was in the office all day and nothing seemed out of place."

"…and?"

"John just called from outside Howard's house, he's not there. From the looks of it, his wife has been calling, waiting for him. It doesn't look like his late night out was exactly planned."

Raymond swore under his breath, "Thank you, Harris. I'd like you and John to maintain your posts for the night, see if he turns up. Should you need anything, Kate will have it brought to you."

Rosalie's brow furrowed watching her counterpart pacing behind the desk as he hung up on his associate. "I take it Howard knows you're onto him?"

He nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose, "That tidbit of intel just vastly sped up the rate of play."

Raymond barreled onward, contacting several known players in the underground in order to ascertain Howard's whereabouts. Between calls, he outlined his actions and their collective purposes to his business partner, using the opportunity as a teachable moment.

Rosalie listened intently as Raymond tangled with a host of low-tier innkeepers, all of whose names she jotted down for posterity.

Her lover noticed this, a lone brow quirking in question as he continued his call, "It would be particularly dangerous for you to harbor him, Leroy, just as it would be particularly lucrative for you to inform me if and when he crosses your path. Do I really need to spell it out for you?"

The innkeeper on the phone seemed hesitant, drawing both Raymond and Rosalie's suspicions.

Leroy relented a moment later under Red's verbal sparring, assuring the man he would alert him if and when he encountered one Howard Bukowski or anyone who looked like him.

Dark, clever eyes flitted up to Raymond's once the man ended the call, Rosalie's misgivings about Leroy laid quite bare. "…I think Leroy's already encountered your foreman."

He nodded his agreement, "Yes, I think Kate and Baz are going to pay old Leroy a visit."

The woman refilled their drinks before settling back into her chair, making another note to herself.

Red pointed a finger at her notepad and smiled, "A little early to be building a blacklist, isn't it?"

Rosalie's chin lifted in defiance, "You contacted a dozen different innkeepers. I don't think it's unreasonable for me to keep an eye out for my competition."

He shook his head, "They are far from competition. These are low-grade, garden variety innkeepers, the kind of people who house murderers and drug runners and thieves-"

"Oh, my." Rosalie quipped dryly, continuing to make notes.

Raymond smirked, "The people seeking these innkeepers are new to the game or downright hazardous. They'd be too hot for you to allow anywhere near your network anyway."

Rosalie remained unconvinced, peering thoughtfully out the window as he made another burst of calls.

When Raymond dialed the last number on the list, his companion left the room.

She reappeared ten minutes later with a small tray laden with leftovers from that night's cookout and Dembe in tow.

The pair waited out Red's conversation with a player in the realm of underground transportation, nibbling on morsels from the tray and whispering back and forth. Both heads whipped around as the man bellowed at the other.

"Rico, I'm in no mood for you to cry poor mouth!"

A muffed grumbling could be heard from the other end of the line.

Raymond's lip curled in a snarl, "I refuse to pay you off, Rico. You want incentive? Fine. Either you do this for me, keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, or I'll make certain by this time next week, your business will have gone into that good night with a resounding bang."

The fugitive closed the phone with a snap and chucked it onto the couch in his frustration. He turned toward his audience with a somewhat apologetic expression. "Yes, Dembe?"

"Rosalie mentioned Leroy was being evasive."

Red sat, picking a few bites from the offered tray and nodding. "Yes. Having heard the conversation, she's of the mind Leroy has already encountered Howard, and I have to agree. Have Kate and Baz pay him a visit, Rico, too, while they're at it."

Dembe nodded his understanding and stood, "Is there anything else?"

Raymond shook his head, waving his thanks as the young man stepped out into the hall.

In the past four hours, Red had contacted a dozen innkeepers, five bootleggers, six rum-runners, eight harbor masters, another seven transportation peddlers, and the Genovese family was swarming Manhattan as his partridge in a pear tree.

If Howard was anywhere in the five boroughs, he was now well and truly trapped.

Rosalie stood, padding slowly around to the other side of the desk.

Raymond watched her intently, his green eyes drifting restlessly up and down her frame.

"Now what?" She asked, putting one leg over his hips and lowering herself to straddle him.

Red pulled her close, undoing the top two buttons of the shirt she wore and pulling the fabric low to bare the tops of her arms and chest. "Now we wait for him to stumble. It shouldn't take long, no more than a day. My people will find him or the Genovese's will." His lips traced the shape of her delicate shoulders, easing a mew from the woman in his lap.

"Let's get you to bed, then," Rosalie hissed as his teeth met the sensitive skin above her collarbone.

"Mmm…I like the sound of that." He husked, gently tugging her long blonde hair to expose more of her to his wanderings.

"I meant actually get you to bed."

Rosalie's expression was a hair chastising as she pulled him from his determined pastime, her warm hands cupping his face in soft, upturned palms. "You've slept two hours out of the past thirty-six. I think you've had your fill of my charms for today. We're going to bed and you're going to get some sleep."

Her tone held a subtle 'or else' note which amused Red greatly. "I'll go to bed, but I can't promise I'll keep my hands to myself."

Without waiting for a response, the man stood and carried his passenger across the hall to their bedroom.

Rosalie huffed her frustration, "Raymond Reddington, you put me down right now."

She was summarily tossed onto the plush bed, eliciting a muffled "Oof!"

Raymond outright laughed when she scowled up at him from amongst the ruffled sheets.

She pointed at him with a lone, dramatic finger, "Get undressed and get into bed."

"I know what I said this morning, but you should know it's terribly arousing when you're pushy." He teased, smirking back at her as he disrobed, not even bothering to put on his sleep clothes.

"I'm going to push you right into one of the guest rooms if you don't behave yourself." Rosalie groused, throwing his pajamas at him. She was adamant on getting the man to sleep at least a couple of hours.

Raymond deftly caught the articles of clothing only to immediately pitch them across the room. "You said I had to undress and get in bed, you said nothing about being clothed." He lifted a flirtatious eyebrow at his companion before snatching her wrist, falling onto the bed, and rolling her beneath him in one smooth motion.

Rosalie's head fell back onto the pillows, her well-laid plans rapidly getting shot to hell. "Raymond, do you know how hard it is to tell you no?" She was nearly fit to be tied, turning to her side so her back was to him.

This simply made it easier for him to fondle her.

"My dear, have you perhaps considered simply giving in to my charms and saying yes?" Raymond's hands wandered up the stiff fabric of her shirt, cupping a full breast in each hand and delighting in the feel of a taut nipple pressing into each of his palms.

Rosalie mewled at his touch, her traitorous body betraying her in an instant.

Red chuckled to himself, knowing the battle was already won. He rolled them again, bracketing the woman beneath him with his arms and kissing her soundly.

"You need to sleep, Raymond." She reasoned, already distracted by his mouth making its way down her person, each lost button of his shirt bringing her further under his spell.

"Imagine how well we'll both sleep after what I have in mind…"

The deep, husky growl vibrated against Rosalie's pulse point, turning her to putty in Red's hands. Her legs wrapped around his hips in capitulation, opening herself to his exploration.

"…Damn you."

Raymond grinned victoriously, "That's my little dove."

Rosalie's Towncar - August 15th, 1999

"You knew he was hunting one of his own?"

It was the following day, and the whole of Raymond's New York associates were scouring the streets for Howard Bukowski.

Rosalie had offered to drop in on some of her clients in the area to see if they hadn't heard anything useful, and was just returning to the safehouse with Horace when her bodyguard brought up a point which has been bothering him.

"Oh Horace, don't say hunting, it makes Bukowski out to be the victim. Until last night, all I knew was that Raymond lost a shipment of contraband and came here to unearth who was responsible. It wasn't till we met with the mafia that any of us knew his own foreman was involved in the theft."

Horace didn't seem appeased by this. "Doesn't it make you nervous, how quickly Reddington can turn on his own?"

Rosalie didn't even look up from her newspaper, "We're criminals. What you're missing here is how deadly being lenient on this sort of thing can be. The fact of the matter is Howard Bukowski willingly signed his own death warrant when he decided to betray Raymond Reddington. Raymond doesn't have a choice on the matter now."

Her guard was surprised at her, "You really believe that?"

"I do," she nodded, "I've always maintained the opinion that taking out one's own is a last resort, when all other options have been exhausted. Howard has exhausted all of Raymond's options by stealing, undermining the man's business, and likely exposing him to the enemy."

Horace snorted with laughter, "The enemy?"

Rosalie's expression was quite serious, "Need I remind you we never found Patrick's killer? The individuals who tried to kill us in the car leaving D.C.? The people behind that other death in June? There's very much an enemy lurking in the shadows, Horace, and Raymond being soft in his response to such attacks would be a death sentence for us all."

Horace and Rosalie arrived back at the safehouse late that afternoon to a flurry of activity.

It seemed she and Red's hunch had been correct, and Leroy the innkeeper had in fact come into contact with Howard earlier the previous afternoon.

Kate and Baz had gently persuaded the man to divulge everything he had uncovered, and their group now knew Howard was last seen in a quiet corner of Chelsea, heading for the bustle of Midtown in the hope of getting lost in a throng of tourists.

Raymond was entrenched in the office, fielding calls from all five boroughs focusing associates and acquaintances toward Midtown in the search for Howard Bukowski.

He passed the burner to Dembe, shooing everyone out as Rosalie stepped into the room.

His arms encircled her once they were alone, pulling the woman tightly to him.

"We were right," she whispered gently in his ear, brushing her lips against his cheek.

Red's shoulders relaxed as he heaved an exhausted sigh. "Yes, but now we have a bigger problem. Howard is desperate. He's entrenched himself somewhere with a lot of witnesses, but most unsettlingly, with an overwhelming number of civilians. It's going to be hell trying to get at him without endangering innocents as well as my own people."

Rosalie pondered this, "Perhaps he can be lured elsewhere, once you've found him."

"That is the hope," Red agreed, "I've sent the Genovese family and my associates to scour Midtown from the Hudson to the East River, hopefully he can be flushed out. Until then…" his hands roamed the shapely figure in his arms, "Let's grab dinner, you and me, far from prying eyes."

The woman beamed at the thought. "I'll grab Horace and Dembe and we'll sneak off for a spell." It had been a long day indeed, and a moment alone to catch up with him sounded divine. She kissed his cheek and flounced off to find their guards, garnering an amused head shake from Red.

The foursome has just pulled up to the front of the very same French restaurant where Raymond & Rosalie had their first dinner together when Red's phone jingled noisily.

The man scowled at the device.

"I bet it's important." Rosalie murmured ruefully, indicating he should take it.

Patting her hand, Raymond huffed his discontent and took the phone from Dembe. "Yeah."

Bennie Eggs' graveled voice filtered through the connection. "Good evening, Ray. We've found that squeaky wheel of yours. Gigante wants to know what you would like us to do with him."

"Son of a- Dembe, turn the car around. The Genovese have Howard."

"Well, the mafia's nothing if not efficient." Conceded Rosalie, her lips pursed and her eyebrows hitting her hairline.

Dembe went haring up the avenue, much to the confusion of the valet who was coming to open their doors.

"I'm sorry my dear, but this really must take precedence."

Rosalie waved his concern aside, her expression understanding. "You're absolutely right this takes precedence. The sooner he's handled the safer we'll be."

They met Bennie and his men on a side street off of Bryant Park and piled into a large black suv. His driver pulled up to an old, run-down brick tenement in Midtown East, cutting the engine and the lights.

"Howard's in that building right there," Bennie pointed, "He's trying to purchase blackout transport from Frankie 'The Coroner' Torello."

"Why do they call him The Coroner?" Rosalie asked in a whisper, her eyes never leaving the building before them.

Bennie Eggs turned his bulky body toward her with a dark smirk, "He sneaks people off the island in caskets."

Rosalie wrinkled her nose, obviously disgusted by the idea of pantomiming as a corpse.

Raymond tilted his head in a shrug, "It's no less effective."

This garnered the woman's curiosity, "Have you purchased such transport?"

"No, but I've arranged it for the odd client who's gotten themselves in a pickle."

The admission seemed to strike a chord in his companion, as she let out a gasp and sat up much straighter.

"What?" questioned Red, turning to look at the building once more, attempting to decipher what had caught her attention.

Rosalie turned to the car's interior, "What if I went in pretending to take him as a client, to offer him safe harbor?"

Raymond shook his head vigorously, "Absolutely not."

Bennie's frown deepened in contemplation, "Now hold on, Red, she might have a point-"

"I said no." Reddington snapped, deeply uncomfortable with the idea.

Rosalie's eyes held him in a vice grip, silently demanding his reasoning.

"He's desperate, Rosalie, this is completely uncharted territory. If he finds out you're with me, I have no clue what he might do."

"He's a family man, Raymond," Rosalie insisted, "He still has a lot to lose. Howard may be desperate, but hope hasn't completely left him yet… I can use that to our advantage."

Horace's expression turned dark as Reddington actually considered the option.

Bennie offered his two cents, "She is an unknown, Red, there would be no reason for him to distrust her."

Rosalie nodded her agreement, adding, "This could work in our benefit, Raymond. The Coroner could spread the word far and wide that you and I have a personal vendetta against each other because I came to help your man escape. As long as Bennie and the boys here keep a tight lip about the truth." Her dark eyes turned meaningfully toward the front of the vehicle, "This could muddy the waters around us to the point that no one would ever believe we're working in tandem."

Raymond held her gaze, knowing in his gut she was right but still quite displeased at willingly putting Rosalie in harm's way.

"This has to end, Raymond. The longer we take to secure him the less likely we are to apprehend anyone else involved." Dembe added his opinion to the fray, covertly drawing Red's attention to the greater issue.

"She will have security with her." Agreed Bennie, jerking his thumb at the massive bodyguards in the front.

"No." Raymond and Horace spoke at the same time.

The pair turned toward each other, rather surprised at their agreement on the matter.

Red further surprised the vehicle at large, "Dembe will go with her. Bennie's guys can tag along but I want Dembe in that room."

"Raymond, Howard knows what I look like," the younger bodyguard reasoned, " I can't be in the room."

Raymond's hands balled into fists as he turned to his companion, "I'm not sending you in there with just anyone." He murmured defiantly, making Rosalie scowl.

"Do you not trust me?" She asked, aghast.

"Of course I do." Red growled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. This was not a conversation he wanted to have in front of an audience.

"Then why insist on Dembe? Why can't I bring my own bodyguard? Do you honestly believe I would double cross you?"

Raymond balked at the question, "Of course not. Day in and day out I trust Dembe with my life, which makes him the only person in this vehicle in whom I would willingly entrust yours."

Bennie watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, his frown so deep it threatened to skirt his collar. It seemed this innkeeper meant a great deal to Raymond Reddington.

Red's flashing green eyes turned imploringly toward his own security, willing the man to ease his agony.

Rosalie lay her hand on his clenched one, coaxing his gaze to her own.

"Ok, Dembe will come with me. But Raymond, he will have to be guarding the door from the outside, otherwise Howard will know exactly what's going on."

Dembe tilted his head toward Rosalie, "That would work."

Horace was vehemently shaking his head, too shocked to utter a sound. To his horror, Raymond nodded in the next instant.

Rosalie gave his hand a squeeze and turned to Dembe, "Let's go now, we've already been sitting here too long."

The man nodded and stepped out of the vehicle, holding a hand out to Rosalie as she exited the car. Bennie's security exited alongside them, flanking the woman on either side.

"I can't believe you're allowing this." Horace hissed from the backseat.

Raymond let out an anxious sigh, "Me neither."

Rosalie stepped up to the building's facade, knocking casually on the dark door frame, stepping inside with her guards seconds later.

The man who answered the door ushered the four individuals into the entryway without question. He was used to pulling criminals and asylum seekers in off the street. If they had come directly to his unassuming door, they could only be there for one thing.

"I believe you have someone of interest to me." Rosalie tilted her head in his direction, her expression impassive.

The Coroner was an apt name for the individual before her. He was pale and gaunt, his skin holding a distinct waxy appearance, as though he weren't real, but a life-sized replica of what a human should be. He was shorter than her, and looked positively childlike in comparison to Dembe and Bennie's added security.

"I do not forfeit clients, regardless of who is after them or for what reason they are being hunted."

Rosalie nodded her agreement, "An understandable caveat, one we share, as a matter of fact."

The Coroner's interest was piqued at this, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, my business functions in the same way. I'm an innkeeper. I work under the alias of Renata Alder, and you, my dear are preparing transport for someone I would very much like to harbor."

Grey, watery eyes passed over the faces of Rosalie and her guards, their suspicion evident.

"Raymond Reddington's foreman," the Coroner surmised with a scowl, "Why would you want to harbor the man?"

Rosalie shrugged, her tone perfectly nonchalant, "Reddington has incurred my ire after buying a property I had my heart set on in Geneva. He was rather smug about it, I'd like to return the favor."

Her petty story must have been just convincing enough, as the little man stood up straighter, his scowl giving way to a sly, genial smile. "Well now, I can certainly accommodate your reasonings. This way, if you please."

Rosalie and her security followed the man up a rickety spiral staircase, the small space going almost completely black before opening to a secondary hallway upstairs.

The Coroner shuffled to the second door on the right, opening it with a large brass key and ushering the woman through. "Mr. Bukowski…you have a visitor."

"Today's your lucky day, Howard." Rosalie strode swiftly into the room, leaving Dembe to guard the exterior while the other two bodyguards stepped inside with her, standing sentinel beside the door.

The dingy room smelled distinctly of moth balls and formaldehyde. Its windows were covered with shabby black curtains, blocking out the few city lights able to filter into the cracks between this building and the one next to it. The space held only a small twin-sized bed, a ratty-looking rug, and a small desk with a dusty wooden chair.

Howard was a moderately tall man with beefy arms and hardly any neck. His shoulders were set high, almost skirting his ears as he held his tense posture, his freckled face riddled with sweat and suspicion. "Who- Who are you?" He asked, running a pudgy hand through his coif of fiery red hair.

One of Bennie's men pulled the chair out from the desk near the door, situating it across from Howard and wiping the dust from its seat with a handkerchief before offering it to Rosalie.

"Thank you dear," Rosalie said graciously before taking the proffered seat.

"I go by the name Renata Alder, Mr. Bukowski. I'm an innkeeper, and I'm here to help."

Howard Bukowski knew a bit more than she had thought. "You run the network Reddington's been living in!" His voice was a hoarse, panicked rasp.

"No," Rosalie lied outright, "I turned him down. He has not nor has he ever been living in my network."

The man's visage calmed slightly, but his posture was still fearful and riddled with distrust. "Then why would you be here? Why did you call me lucky?"

"You're lucky because your boss has royally pissed me off." Rosalie informed him, allowing an acidic bite to creep its way into her tone.

"How?" Howard asked, sitting a little forward in his seat.

The woman's eyes rolled in exasperation, "If you must know, he bought a villa out from under me in Geneva last week. A lovely, charming little lake-front property tucked between the French Alps and the Rhone Valley, and he snatched it by bribing the auctioneer." Rosalie was inventing wildly as she went, but the tale was certainly soothing the man in front of her. She halted the diatribe before she could get ahead of herself. "Well, let's just say I have a score to settle, and if you're content to high-tail it out of dodge and live in one of my luxury homes for a year or so, I can certainly get you out of this bind, if only to irritate your old boss."

The pitiful man's visage was transported, his eyes grew to the size of saucers and his expression indicated he simply couldn't believe his luck. "I- I don't know, I don't know what to say, what to do."

"Mr. Bukowski," Rosalie intoned, leaning forward in her seat. "I don't know if anyone has told you yet, but Raymond Reddington is upending the tristate area looking for you. To say I'm your only way out is an understatement. As I see it, you really only have two options: you get in my car and I take you somewhere Reddington knows he'll never find you, reunite you with your family and send you on your merry way once he gives up, or you wait in this squalid room until Reddington inevitably finds you, kills you, and makes it impossible for anyone to find the pieces."

Bukowski shrank at her honesty, the stark reality of his limited options bearing down on him.

"I think I'll take my chances with you."

Rosalie felt as though a gallon of ice water had flooded her stomach in one gulp. Part of her had been hoping the man would refuse, that he would insist on staying his course.

Instead, he had taken Rosalie at her word, putting blind childlike faith in her to provide him the safe harbor he needed. Instead, she would be handing him over to the very man looking for him.

In truth, she felt awful about it, but she simply couldn't entertain her guilt at that moment. The fact of the matter was they needed Howard to ascertain the threat to Raymond and his associates. She couldn't afford to be soft anymore.

"Excellent." Her voice was blessedly steady as she stood, brushing the dust from her skirt. "We need to get a move on, Mr. Bukowski, Reddington's people will know you're here soon if they don't already."

Rosalie turned on her heel and marched toward the door, leaving Bennie's men to flank Howard on either side. Her eyes met Dembe's as she stepped into the hallway.

The shared remorse she found there made Rosalie bite her lip to keep it from trembling.

Dembe took a step back into the hallway's shadows, staying out of sight as Howard and the guards stepped out of the room, one in front and one behind their captive as he went willingly down the stairs. The bodyguard waited a beat before bringing up the rear, catching up with their party as they stepped up to The Coroner's front door.

"Come back anytime." The man's flinty, sinister voice called from the foyer, a waxy hand waving as the five guests stepped out onto the dark street.

Howard was complacent until they made it to the suv.

Upon opening the car door to find none other than Raymond Reddington, fedora and all, sitting comfortably within, the man completely lost it. Howard attempted to bolt, making a break for the gap between Bennie's guards before being sandwiched forcefully between them.

He yelled and flailed, his arms and legs swinging at anything he could come into contact with, which, unluckily for him, took the form of Rosalie.

The back of his massive hand connected soundly with the woman's jaw, issuing a resounding smack which incurred the fury of every man present.

The guard who had wiped the dust from her chair immediately turned, shielding the woman from further blows.

Out of nowhere, Dembe came surging from the back of the group, landing two solid punches to Howard's head in a matter of seconds, sending the man crumpling to the ground.

There was no small amount of shouting, but Rosalie quickly shushed them all, directing Bennie's men to put Howard in the back of the suv before they could be seen. They did so without question, one of them climbing in alongside him just in case Howard came to.

Dembe took Rosalie from the secondary guard, easing her into the seat between Raymond and himself.

The Concierge of Crime was absolutely livid, though he was obviously trying his best to hide it.

"Drive. Now." He commanded, cupping Rosalie's face in his hands, examining her for injuries.

Horace's dark, accusing face could be seen from the corner of his eye, but Red couldn't be bothered with him just now.

It was little more than a split lip, though Rosalie winced when he brushed a thumb along her jawline. The spot would be tender for a few days, and would likely bruise, but in all she was perfectly fine, which she told him several times, to little effect.

"Really, Raymond, it's minor, hardly an issue at all…"

The man shushed her, continuing his perusal of her features as they hurtled along, heading for the Triangle Social Club.

Howard had awoken and was fighting the bodyguard in the back by the time they reached the Genovese's headquarters. The family had graciously offered the space to Raymond for his purposes in dealing with his employee, something for which he was grateful.

He turned to his companion with a stern look, "You are staying in this car with Horace. Don't even think of leaving that seat."

Rosalie was truthfully rather tired, and so she sedately made a crossing motion over her heart, acquiescing to his demands as the guards wrangled Howard into the pitch black storefront.

The Triangle Social Club - Greenwich Village, New York City

"Close the damn door." Red growled once they were all within the confines of the club, taking his hat and setting it pointedly on the nearby bar.

Bennie slammed the door shut and kicked on the flickering lights, throwing a scrabbling Howard Bukowski into sharp relief.

Red strode casually through the room, taking his time prowling after the scuttling rat. Raymond Reddington wasn't the type of man to run anywhere unless it was absolutely necessary. He preferred to stalk his prey, allowing them to accidentally maneuver themselves into a dead end.

Over the past few years, he had found this was one of his strong suits. It was satisfying, intellectually, to know he needn't lift a finger, that those unfortunate enough to find themselves staring down the barrel of his fury would screw themselves into a bind then ultimately entrap themselves.

This was specially true if he told them in advance what would happen. Then it became a self-fulfilling prophecy

His prey leapt up, making a run straight at Reddington who laid him out flat with a vicious right hook.

"There are certain things I don't suffer well, Howard, do you know what those things are?"

Howard jumped up once more, throwing a punch of his own, which was summarily blocked and followed by two more hard and fast hits from Red.

"Disloyalty is chief among them. The mafia call such betrayal 'eating alone,' because it denotes a certain level of selfishness. One has to be selfish to eat without waiting for your family, your brethren. You were disloyal, Howard."

"I swear, I didn't do anything!" Howard scuttled away from the man whose visage had turned as dark and desolate as a frigid winter's night. In the same breath, the guilty man reached for a shot glass breaking it on the nearby brick fireplace and holding it high above his head, preparing to bring the sharp point down on Reddington with a lethal force.

Unfortunately, the man had picked the wrong fight.

Raymond stepped forward with a towering ferocity, snatching the man's wrist and bending it backward, sending the glass shard shattering to the floor. Keeping that arm bent back, he let loose a deluge of powerful blows to the man's abdomen, dropping him to his knees on the ground before him.

Red bent over, getting directly in Howard's face. "I was going to wax poetic about your lying next, but your split lip has reminded me of another, more grievous offense."

Howard swung, catching his former employer high on his cheek.

Raymond reacted immediately, landing a combination punch to Howard's skull which sent him toppling in a heap to the ground.

The man shifted far back into a corner, sweating profusely and dripping blood from his nose and mouth. "It wasn't me. It wasn't me, Red!"

"You were seen with stolen contraband." Raymond flung a nearby beer glass at the wall behind the man's head, "Fifty!" he flung another, "God!" another, "Damn!" yet another, "Miles!" the fifth just barely missed his left ear. "Fifty miles from my warehouse." Red took a deep breath, working to slow his anger. "I have photographic evidence, Howard. So don't you dare lie to me and squawk your innocence."

The guilty party cowered in the corner, his body haloed in shattered glass.

Raymond turned at the sound of a knock upon the door, nodding for Dembe to let the arrival in.

Kate Kaplan strode quickly into the room, followed closely by Ted Brimley and Baz.

Howard looked up at the three newcomers, a shudder of fear running the length of his body.

At that same moment Dominick Cirillo appeared from behind a hidden panel which lead to the apartments upstairs. His eyebrows rose to meet his receding hairline as he took in the state of the room and Reddington in particular.

"I'm terribly sorry about the mess, Dom. I'll of course pay for all new glassware and will have my cleaners personally see to the cleanup, as soon as I'm done with this." Red gestured toward the frightened mass in the corner.

"Christ, Ray, all this for a bit of stolen contraband?" Dominick was rather impressed, truth be told. He had underbosses who couldn't wield half the lethal force Raymond Reddington seemed to manage at the drop of a hat.

"It's a bit more involved than that," he murmured evasively, turning to his cleaner and his interrogator. "I need to know everything he's done in the past four months. Nothing is too small."

Brimley nodded his understanding, immediately setting to work. "I wouldn't go far, if I were you. You damn near broke him already." The man actually managed a stage whisper that didn't sound like a foghorn this time.

Raymond nodded his understanding, trudging past Kate on his way out. "Have your team ready to go. I can't let him leave this building alive."

Kate eyed him critically, her concerns for his well-being quite evident.

"I'll be fine." He assured, setting his fedora back on his pate and beckoning Dembe to follow before stepping out into the balmy night.

Rosalie had watched Kate, Baz, and Brimley walk into the building and remain. She had thought she had heard shattering glass at one point, but it was difficult to tell from within the silent car.

She and Horace hadn't spoken a word the whole time Raymond was in the Genovese's headquarters, the tension in the air to stifling to utter anything aloud.

Shortly after the trio entered the building, Raymond and Dembe exited, making for the suv.

Raymond slid into the seat beside Rosalie as Dembe took the driver's side and Horace moved to the passenger's seat.

The young woman immediately noticed is tattered hands, a couple of his knuckles were bleeding profusely.

"Raymond-"

The man held up a pleading gesture, silently requesting she not ask. "I don't know about you, my dear, but I'm famished."

The quartet made their way to a nearby pizza joint which was blissfully open late, ordering a number of perfectly thin pizza slices and soda pops in glass bottles.

They sat on a nearby park bench and devoured the fare, not speaking a word until they had each finished a slice.

"You were quite upset in the car earlier." Rosalie said quietly, keeping the conversation low, so their security at the next bench over wouldn't hear.

"I still am," admitted Raymond, "I didn't want you going in there at all, and there you were getting backhanded by one of my people."

The woman shook her head, thinking he was overreacting. "He panicked, I know I'd put up as much of a fight if I knew I was going to a certain death."

Red sighed, staring down at his soft drink with no small amount of trepidation.

"You were hoping it wouldn't end this way." Rosalie murmured knowingly, her dark eyes seeming to see right through him. She had an uncanny way about her which managed to cut right through the facades and veneers, right to the very heart of things. He usually liked that about her, but today it left him feeling raw and vulnerable.

"I did," he whispered in a rough, gravelly voice, "I was hoping…"

Raymond turned to look into her eyes, "After all this time I still hold out hope that there might be another way, but there seldom ever is."

The pair stared at each other several long moments before a burner phone jangled somewhere off to their right.

They both turned as Dembe came forward with the device, informing Red it was Brimley.

"He's ready, boss, snapped like an overstretched rubberband not five minutes ago."

"Thank you, Brimley, we'll be there shortly."

Brimley blinked nervously at Kate Kaplan who stood beside him, "Boss, I think you should know, Howard wasn't acting alone..."

Exhausted though they were, the four of them immediately boarded the suv and headed back to the Triangle Social Club.

Rosalie stepped out of the vehicle without a thought, moving with her companion to the shop's door.

"There's probably going to be a contingent of mobsters here." Raymond warned, coming up alongside her.

"Well that's good, because mobsters love me." She quipped right back, striding through the door with purpose.

They were thankfully greeted only by Dominick and Bennie, who had come to see the fruits of their labor.

Rosalie, Dembe, Horace, Kate, and Baz all stood in a neat line alongside the family-sized table while Red made his way across the room and took a rickety chair in front of Howard, who was tied to a rickety chair of his own.

"You're going to give me everything you know about who hired you Howard. Every last scrap of information. You're going to hand it all over, right now, and then perhaps I won't put a bullet in you."

Rosalie's mouth fell open, watching the exciting show of Raymond Reddington at work as the other man nodded vigorously.

Howard's voice was a shaky rasp when he spoke, making him sound as though he were already hobbling on his last leg.

"I was approached by a man four months back, he was known only as the German. He offered me a huge payout to undermine some incoming deals. I never saw his face, but he offered me ten thousand dollars a turn to leak your bids to other purchasers so they could come in a couple thousand above and steal your business. I have a family, and that kind of money… Well, it makes a huge difference."

Raymond's expression did not so much as twitch.

Howard continued nervously, "After I said yes, I began to receive a series of mail drops outlining what shipments you were pursuing and when. They came along with a burner phone, so I could contact a second man in order to find out what your bid was."

A snarl tugged at Raymond's upper lip. "Who?"

The other man shook his head vigorously, "I have no idea, Ray. I swear, I never saw the German guy's face, and I never even met the other one. Everything was done through burner phones and dead drops."

"What was his voice like?" Red asked, desperate to hear more about this secondary player.

Howard blanched, unsure, "I don't really know, he had a deep voice, obviously a man. He could have been Middle Eastern, African, maybe Mediterranean? I couldn't tell."

"Where?"

"What?" Howard hiccuped, his blue eyes wide with fear.

Red shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other and threading his fingers together. "The dead drops, where did they occur?"

The other man's eyes darted frantically around the room,"Everywhere. Hong Kong, Cape Town, London, Trinidad, Marrakech, they've been left all over the globe."

"How did you acquire the ones abroad?"

"A courier automatically brought them to the shipment facility in Brooklyn."

"Of which you were in sole charge." Raymond finished for him, that piece of the puzzle settling into place. "Do you have a record of these drops?"

Howard nodded, a shaky hand pointing to his chest.

Dembe stepped forward, pulling the small notebook from the man's jacket pocket and shaking a few stray glass shards from its pages. He handed the item to Raymond, who rifled through its pages with a scowl.

There were dates and times and locations for a number of drops listed within. Red passed the item back to Dembe, who returned to the table, holding the notebook out to Rosalie hoping she might be able to make sense of the mess of locations and timeframes.

The woman scoured its pages, not paying attention to the dulcet tones of Raymond's voice further interrogating the man bound to a chair in the corner. It wasn't until the people around her shifted that she even noticed the air in the space had changed.

The whole room seemed to turn cold as Raymond sat silently across from his former foreman.

"You know what has to happen now, Howard." His deep voice rumbled regretfully, taking the Browning pistol from the small of his back and screwing on a silencer.

"No," Howard whimpered, staring at the gun with abject fear.

"I would love for this not to be the case, but I'm afraid you've left me with no choice in the matter. You've exposed my business to who knows how many people, you've hurt me financially, and most grievously, you betrayed my trust."

Raymond looked the man in the eye, firm and unflinching in his conviction. It was the least he could do, to be honest and forthright and human in his last moments with Howard Bukowski. "I'm out of options, Howard. All I can do now is assure you your family will be provided for. They will want for nothing, nothing except for you. Your children's father, your wife's husband, your parent's son… They will want for you, which is something I won't be able to give them. But you can go into that good night knowing at the very least, they will be cared for."

Rosalie stood rooted to the spot as two muffled shots echoed in the small, dingy room.

Howard slumped in his chair, two dark red circles blossoming directly over where his heart would be, his body still and silent in the eerie night.

Raymond stood slowly, striding over to Dominick and Bennie, thanking them for their assistance and assuring them any debt the Genovese owed Red had been paid.

SoHo Safehouse

Red had left Kate to the cleanup of the Triangle Social Club, sending Brimley back to the 78th Street safehouse with Ted, who had met them in Greenwich Village. Toddrick and Wallace were gathering any pertinent documents from the warehouse regarding the drops Howard had referred to, and the rest of their party had made their way back to the safehouse in SoHo.

Raymond had headed directly for his office with the list of drops, determined to make out a pattern or garner some intel from the locales.

An hour later, he sighed his frustration. The sheer volume of drops Howard divulged would provide them no direction. The drop sites and days held no significance to him, the locations were all places in which there was an extensive and active criminal underground. The fact was most criminals did business in these cities, Red included.

Tossing the pen onto the desk, he rubbed his temples, wincing as he felt the tattered skin on his knuckles split further. Raymond glared at the back of his right hand, watching impassively as a droplet of dark red blood pooled over his middle knuckle before trickling down his skin into his palm. The man clenched his fist around the small rivulet, anger pulsing through him once more.

Rosalie stood unnoticed in the doorway watching the irritable tick of his jaw.

This was a rarely seen side of her counterpart; Raymond had always been careful to never allow Rosalie to find him in such a disheveled state.

That's not to say she didn't have an idea what was going on. He would occasionally come home in a different suit than what he left in, or with pieces missing, such as his jacket or waistcoat. She had occasionally seen him with his hair slightly ruffled, the odd scrape here and there on his hands or his cheeks.

As a matter of fact, in the year they had been on the run together, Rosalie had only truly encountered the cold reality of Raymond's criminal life once.

Flashback - Lachine Safehouse - Montreal, Quebec - January, 1999 -

"Are you really waiting up for them?"

Horace's amused voice carried through the living space of the loft they were staying at in Old Montreal, drawing the eyes of his young charge.

Rosalie sat curled in one of the plush armchairs in the lounge, an array of paperwork and her accounts ledger spread before her on the nearby coffee table. She waved the man off, "I'm just working out a few kinks in my financial structuring."

The lie was smooth, nearly convincing her bodyguard.

"Well, don't stay up too late."

Rosalie lifted her gaze, meeting the smiling beetle black orbs of her security, then nodded.

The large man turned and meandered down the hall, whistling all the way, the woman furtively watching his retreat.

Once he was safely behind his bedroom door, Rosalie closed her books and made her way to the kitchen. What Horace didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and anyways, it was none of his business if she waited up for Reddington or not.

She pulled two small dutch ovens from the refrigerator, placing them on the stovetop and lighting the burners. The wind was howling and sleet noisily pelted the building's brick exterior, making the comfortable apartment feel all the more cozy. She figured if Raymond and Dembe were out this late in the frigid cold they would need warming up, and had set aside extra portions of the stew she had made for herself and her security, with a vegetarian option for Reddington's bodyguard.

Rosalie fixed herself a drink and paced the gleaming hardwood floors, peering thoughtfully out of the apartment's soaring arched windows with their white frames and wrought iron bolts. She couldn't help but wonder what was keeping her business partner out so late.

The man had been tense the past two days. In the few minutes he had spent in the safehouse, he had been brusque, disgruntled and hot-tempered. He was always polite, but the innkeeper could tell something was bothering the man . That morning, Raymond had prowled the office like a caged animal, making phone call after phone call in his deep, dangerous drawl before mysteriously storming off without a word.

It was now past midnight, and Rosalie was starting to wonder if the pair were okay. Certainly there would be some kind of contingency plan should something go wrong?

The woman's eyes suddenly grew wide and a blush flooded her cheeks. Her mind had chosen that moment to supply a terrible yet equally likely reason for the man's tardiness.

…Perhaps Reddington was out with a woman?

Rosalie began to panic, seeing a set of headlights moving into the cobbled courtyard below. Of course, a date would be a much more reasonable explanation for his lateness than some deal gone awry.

For some reason, the thought of the man chasing tail in some luxurious Montreal establishment irritated Rosalie. She knew she had no right to harbor feelings of jealousy toward any woman who might catch his eye. Nothing could happen between the two of them anyway.

Yet she was surprised to find herself deeply disheartened by the fact.

Rosalie told herself it was simply a passing fancy.

Raymond was an old-fashioned gentleman, clever and terribly charming. It was only natural, the woman assured herself, for her to be interested. The man was an enigma, and there were few things Rosalie found more exciting than intrigue.

The innkeeper groaned and shook her head vigorously. What was she thinking?

The man was her business partner, this kind of impropriety simply couldn't be allowed. He could and would see whomever he desired, and Rosalie would do the same. Never mind the fact they had taken to sneaking into each other's beds in the dead of night, or that he had kissed her only a few short weeks ago.

Feeling incredibly stupid, Rosalie hurried back over to the stovetop, intent on shutting off the burners and going to bed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the young woman swore her inner voice was laughing derisively at her.

The sound of the apartment door opening and closing pulled Rosalie from her frantic movements, a defeated sigh escaping her mouth as she glanced around.

She turned in time to encounter Raymond and Dembe trudging exhaustedly through the living area, carefully carrying their shoes.

Red halted in his tracks, causing his bodyguard to bump into his back.

Dembe grunted irritably, looking up to see what the holdup was. His eyebrows lifted minutely at the innkeeper's surprised visage.

Her dark eyes were locked on Reddington. The man's hat looked soaked through with sleet, he wasn't wearing a coat, and his usually immaculate suit was spattered with blood.

The pair simply stared at each other for a long moment before Rosalie broke the silence. "Do you have someone to take care of your clothes?"

Red's eyebrows quirked in surprise, "Kate," he rasped, "Kate usually takes them. She should be here within the hour."

Rosalie nodded thoughtfully, her mind firing into action. "You should shower, you'll feel better." Her tone was calm and soothing as she spoke, "There are trash bags beneath the sinks for your clothes, and there's stew on the stove if you're hungry. The pot on the left is vegetarian, for Dembe."

The young bodyguard gave her a tired smile and nodded his thanks.

"That sounds…wonderful." Raymond murmured sincerely, his shoulders relaxing a fraction of an inch.

Rosalie's lips twitched at one corner, "Go on, get those backsides in the shower, I'll come collect your clothes in a bit so they're ready when Kate arrives."

Both men fought careful, guarded smiles, following her orders without argument.

As they reached the length of hallway leading to the bedrooms, Red leaned into Dembe's ear.

"Call and cancel my order from La Maison, whatever's in that pot smells damn good."

Dembe nodded his agreement, taking out the satellite phone as he turned into his room.

Raymond continued on to the master bedroom, the weight of the day's activities slowing his stride.

The door to Horace's room was open, and the older bodyguard eyed Red as he passed by.

The Concierge of Crime held the man's scrutinizing glance without blinking, having no desire to explain his disheveled state. Once safely within the confines of his room, the man wasted no time in turning on the shower and rummaging beneath the sink.

Once both showers were running, Rosalie tread into Dembe's room, finding the man's clothes neatly tied in a trash bag.

She picked the item up by its ties and left the room, turning toward the master suite.

Horace jumped out at her as she passed by, tugging her into his doorway as the woman nearly leapt out of her skin.

"For Christ's sake, Horace!" she hissed, "Must you do that?"

"Is this the kind of business we're running now?" He questioned, gesturing at the bag of bloody clothes.

"You shouldn't scare me like that." Rosalie grumbled evasively, tugging the bag away from his accusing finger.

Horace wasn't dissuaded, "You know what happened tonight, right? Reddington killed someone."

Rosalie blinked benignly up at him, "Your point?"

"My point?" Horace gawked at her, "Do you condone that sort of thing?"

"Only when there is no other option." She assured, her expression perfectly calm.

"No other option? Rosalie, do you even hear what you're saying?"

"Don't look at me like that, Horace," she sighed, "You were brought up with the Corsicans, the same as I was. You can't tell me you never encountered a situation where it wasn't an absolute necessity."

The man faltered, his charge's unflinching gaze brought him up short.

"You weren't… You haven't…"

Rosalie's expression was sympathetic, "You were new, and I spent the lion's share of my days at the side of Florian Armel, the boss of the Corsican gang."

Horace shook his head, "That was different, you weren't personally involved- I would have known." He insisted, waving his hands, unwilling to believe what she was alluding to.

His charge lifted her head in defiance, "I'm a criminal, Horace," Rosalie reminded, her tone completely unapologetic. "I've done what was necessary to ensure my survival and the continued safety of those I love."

The woman's dark orbs turned cold and distant, "Whatever this life has required of me, Horace, I've given, and will continue to give. So, if you're suddenly having a crisis of conscience, I sincerely suggest you reevaluate your career path, because you're out of your mind if you think this," she gestured pointedly toward Reddington's room, "doesn't happen in my network every single day. I'm absolutely certain of it."

Horace stood shocked and sputtering

"I'm many things, but I'm far from a hypocrite. I'm not going to judge Reddington or any of my other clients for meeting the requirements this life has made of them."

Rosalie pushed past her guard, striding the remaining length of the hallway to the master suite.

Raymond Reddington stood stoically in the open doorway, wrapped in a dark blue bathrobe, his expression completely neutral.

The innkeeper came to a screeching halt in front of him, her eyes wide, wondering how long he had been standing there. She knew it was highly unlikely the man hadn't just heard the entire exchange between her and her guard.

The pair simply stared at each other, once again at a loss for words.

Raymond broke the silence this time, holding out the bag of bloodied clothes.

"Thank you."

Reddington's visage bore a wealth of meaning, his head tilting ever so subtly in the direction of Horace's room. The exchange surprised him to say the least, and yet it didn't. The man felt marginally better knowing someone as seemingly whole and untarnished as Rosalie was every bit the criminal he was, that she, too, had taken lives for the sake of surviving.

The woman's dark eyes blinked thoughtfully up at him before falling to the item in his grasp. She took the bag's ties, setting both items on the floor beside her.

Raymond peered curiously at the woman, watching her slender fingers reach for his right hand.

She turned the large appendage over in her outstretched palms, examining the bloody fist with a small frown.

The man froze as her soft thumb brushed his knuckles and the inside of his palm. The motion was so gentle, it struck him dumb. Before the man knew what was going on, Rosalie was reaching up and caressing his cheek in the same fashion.

Those gray eyes glinted with something unnamed as she held his gaze.

"I'll wrap this once you've showered, hmm?"

Red nodded in a bit of a daze.

Rosalie gave him a small half-smile, patting his cheek once more before bending to pick up the bags of clothes and making her way back down the hall.

The man glanced cautiously around the open door, watching the feminine form retreat to the main living area.

Dembe's head poked out of the guest bath to do the same thing, observing her for a long moment before turning to meet Raymond's befuddled gaze. The two men shared a meaningful look, both surprised and a bit intrigued by this new development.

Kate Kaplan arrived forty minutes later, striding stoically into the open loft. Her brown eyes were nearly black as they took in the young innkeeper perched on the arm of the chair Raymond Reddington was occupying in the lounge, carefully wrapping the man's fist with clean gauze.

The cleaner was unsure how to proceed with the man's business partner right there; there was no way of knowing if she was aware of what had transpired that night.

Raymond looked up at the other woman's entrance, nodding his acknowledgement before lifting a glass of amber liquid to his lips.

To Kate's immense surprise, Rosalie stood from the armchair, lifting two small dark bags and carrying them to the other woman without a word.

Rosalie met Kaplan's suspicious demeanor with a calm, gentle warmth. The blonde's chin lifted confidently, taking the cool reception in her stride. "If you need a place to stay, the fifth bedroom is available, and an assortment of food is in the kitchen, if you're hungry."

Kate blinked impassively at her before leaning around the woman's shoulder. "I've taken care of it." She told Reddington cryptically, taking the bags from Rosalie's grasp and striding from the apartment without another word.

The younger woman followed Kaplan's retreat with her eyes, confused as to her rather frigid reception.

"Don't take it personally. Kate takes a long time to warm to anyone, if she warms to them at all."

Raymond's gruff drawl drew the woman from her thoughts. The man had stealthily moved into the kitchen and was doling out a healthy serving of the delicious smelling concoction on the stove.

Rosalie watched with a minute smile as he sighed his approval of the dish, settling into one of the kitchen chairs with a groan.

Dembe stepped out into the living area, freshly showered and his own knuckles poorly wrapped.

The young innkeeper shook her head with a smile, striding over to the living area to grab her first aid kit before bullying the bodyguard to the kitchen table so she could clean and wrap his knuckles as well.

SoHo Safehouse - Present Day, August 15th, 1999

"Come along, let's take a shower, you'll feel better."

The statement cut through Red's fury, bringing his eyes up to the woman leaning in the doorway. The man stood, following her direction without argument.

In truth, he was eager to wash this night off of him.

In the confines of the master bath, Rosalie turned on the shower's spray, allowing the water to warm as Red discarded his clothes. She held open a small trash bag as he deposited each article within. Once the man was naked, she knotted the ties on the bag and tossed it unceremoniously into one of the sink's basins.

Raymond wasted no time stepping into the shower stall, letting out an appreciative hiss when the piping hot water hit his skin.

Rosalie soon followed, bearing an array of the man's bath products.

He turned, expecting her to flinch from him, but instead she wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back fondly. "How are you?" Came the smooth, sincere voice, the sound traveling soothingly along the man's skin.

"I'm…" He had been prepared to lie, but that warm feminine frame pressed so tightly to him and those soft fingertips traversing him ever so gently gave him pause.

"You killed a man." She soothed, "Having lived with you nearly every day for a year, I know for a fact it's not every day you put a bullet in someone. You avoid it unless absolutely necessary. Are you going to be alright, Raymond?"

"Are we?"

The question was asked without context, blurted out in a feverish loss of tact because the man simply had to know. She was right, it wasn't every day a woman watched her lover murder one of his employees as recompense for a monumental betrayal.

He couldn't help but wonder if this side of him frightened her.

Raymond was a vicious, violent man. He had never pretended to be anything else. Yet, their relationship was still very new, there were pieces of him which she hadn't yet come to reckon with, pieces which were dark and volatile, ones which would easily frighten off run of the mill women.

Rosalie was far from run of the mill, though, as she proved time and time again.

The woman frowned, "Of course we are, you didn't really think I would get this involved with you only to tuck tail the first time I fully see you in such a light?"

Red's gaze belied the truth, holding her fiery orbs a little sheepishly.

Rosalie's mouth twitched at the corner, her steely gaze softening, "I didn't balk in Montreal, I'm certainly not going to now."

The man would never forget that night, not in a thousand years. The way she had looked at him, soaked in sleet, covered in blood, and so terribly angry. His eyes had openly screamed his guilt, yet her eyes had burned with compassion. Everything about her, her voice that night, the few small touches she allowed herself, it had all conveyed reassurance and comfort. It had forever change Raymond's view of Rosalie, and had been one of the many reasons he could no longer keep himself from her.

Tonight, her visage held the same warmth, the same understanding. Her eyes merely asked that he let her care for him, and the exhausted fugitive all too readily submitted himself to her tender care.

Recognizing his acquiescence, Rosalie plucked one of the soaps from the bunch and began gently rubbing the product into Red's skin. It wasn't a sexual exchange, but one of deep affection. The woman meticulously lathered every last inch of the man before her, washing away all remnants of that night.

Raymond sighed his enjoyment, the anger and frustration he felt melting away by degrees. He allowed the woman to bully him about in several positions, ensuring he was thoroughly pampered. She missed nothing, from the man's burly legs to the planes of his back and torso, she ran her hands and a soap-filled loofah soothingly along every last bit of skin, mindful of the few scrapes on his hands.

Red released a soft moan when she abandoned the loofah, using her soapy hands to gently cleanse between his legs. The woman's fingertips swirled through the neatly trimmed hair around his groin, smoothing the fragrant suds throughout the soft down. Her hands slid further downward, gently caressing his semi-erect penis.

The man could hardly be blamed for the wayward appendage, it was unreasonable for anyone to expect him not to be affected by a beautiful naked woman caressing him from head to toe.

The shaft pulsed erotically when she cupped his balls, massaging and cleansing those as well before slipping a lone soapy digit backward along the crevice of his backside.

Raymond couldn't help a surprised grunt of pleasure at the sensation.

Rosalie smiled sweetly up at him, ever the picture of a mischievous minx.

The man chuckled warmly, cupping her cheek in one large palm.

She carefully stood from her kneeling position, guiding him back under the shower's pounding spray to wash away the suds.

Once his body was rinsed, Rosalie placed a drop of shampoo into her hand and set about washing the man's hair.

A guttural growl tumbled low in Raymond's chest. He was already terribly fond of her fingertips carding through his short locks on any given day, but to feel her slowly circling the digits along his scalp made goosebumps race in waves down the man's extremities.

Rosalie beamed for his reaction, coaxing him into tilting his head back as she swirled the tips of her nails in mind-bending whirls of tingling satisfaction. She watched his Adam's apple bob in a spasmodic rhythm, the sight making her want to nibble the length of his neck.

The man's hands looped around her hips, keeping her close as she meticulously wiped that night from memory.

Once they were both clean and pleasantly calm, Raymond and Rosalie shuffled lazily into their bedroom, the former stretching out along the bed with a sigh before begrudgingly picking up the first aid kit which was tucked in his nightstand drawer.

"This is mine to do." Rosalie insisted idly, taking the kit from him and sitting on the edge of the bed. She took out antibiotic ointment and the various other items she would need before setting about wrapping his tattered knuckles. "You don't get to tend your wounds in solitude anymore." She reminded, ensuring the gauze was wrapped neatly around his fist.

An obliging smile tugged at the corner of Red's mouth, "I'm not?"

"No." Rosalie stated matter-of-factly, "You have a lover. A very pushy, self-indulgent lover who likes to fuss over you."

"I should probably let her have her way with me then, shouldn't I?" He murmured, his expression spellbound.

"You should," agreed Rosalie, finishing her wrapping and placing a gentle kiss to the clean white gauze. "I'm sure she'll treat you very, very nicely if you do."

"How nicely are we talking?" He questioned with am impish grin, earning himself a coy little wink.

Dembe knocked softly, stepping into the room once he was bid. "Kate has taken care of the body," he informed him in a stoic tone, "The Genovese's club has been put to rights as well."

"Very good, please let Kate know there is a room for her at her original location if she wishes or here with us once she is ready."

Rosalie took one look at the young bodyguard's hand and let out a quiet tutting noise. "Come here Dembe, it's your turn."

The young man lifted confused brows, shuffling toward the innkeeper in a suspiciously slow manner.

Rosalie sighed, her smile an indulgent one. "Sweetheart, the only person in this room in danger of being bitten by me is Raymond."

The quip knocked the tension out of the room, making both men snigger.

"Now shimmy on over here," she insisted, "I want to check your hand."

Dembe closed the distance between them, sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed and holding up the poorly wrapped appendage for her inspection, smiling sheepishly when Rosalie tutted at him again.

"Why would you bite Raymond?" He questioned softly, his deep, dark eyes flickering with mischief.

"Well, you know, sometimes he misbehaves." Rosalie explained, perfectly deadpan. "Every once in a while a good sharp nip ensures he minds his P's and Q's."

Both men laughed heartily at this, the mood in the room lightening a bit further.

Rosalie removed the gauze and began the process of disinfecting the tattered spots on the young man's knuckles and dabbing them all with antibiotic ointment. "You have a friend who is going to insist on taking care of you." She reminded, wrapping Dembe's knuckles just as carefully as she had wrapped Red's. "So I suggest you take a leaf out of Raymond's book," she tilted her head in the direction of a very amused and sedate Raymond Reddington, "and let me fuss over you, or I really will bite you."

Dembe chuckled, a broad grin illuminating his features as Rosalie finished, tucking the tail of the bandage safely on the inside of his palm.

She stood and placed a soft kiss to Dembe's forehead, smiling warmly down at him before turning back to Raymond. "The two of you need a little TLC." She declared, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at the bedroom door. "Now go to the kitchen, so I can feed you and coddle you both some more."

The two grown, formidable men blinked insolently up at their self-proclaimed mother hen.

Rosalie was undeterred, "Did I stutter? You have your ways of coping with a rough day and I have mine. March those darling little criminal backsides into the lounge. Ray, pick out a few good albums. Dembe, you finish up with Kate. I'll get us some drinks and we'll hold down the couch like we did on New Year's Eve."

Dembe sniggered and gave a stiff salute before exiting the room.

Raymond stood from the bed, grasped the little woman firmly by the waist and brought her flush against him. Those jade green eyes held her for a fraction of a second before he kissed her deeply, mindful of the small cut on her mouth from Howard's fist.

Rosalie's lips parted readily, offering a brief moment for him to fall into her gentle affection.

"You and I will continue this later." He promised, nuzzling her nose with his before kissing her once more.

Rosalie grinned as he obeyed her orders, stepping out of the room and moving for the record collection on the floor below.

"This is new," Dembe commented, once Red strode out into the open area.

"It is," he conceded, "Though not unpleasant, I'm usually, well, intolerable after a night like tonight."

Dembe nodded his agreement. "It is usually a dark and irritable couple of days for us both."

The men shared a reluctantly amused look, both recognizing how much they secretly enjoyed Rosalie's mollycoddling. It was new and uncharted territory, having someone sincerely and, at times, aggressively demand to take care of them.

-Late that night-

A scotch neat in one hand and a gin and tonic in the other, Rosalie ascended the stairs from the kitchen into the first floor. She was in one of Raymond's shirts, and was humming happily to herself as she headed for the second floor when something demanded she stop.

There in the foyer stood Horace, his bulky trench coat draped over one arm and his wavy black hair tied back in a short ponytail. His suitcase and overnight bag were immediately recognizable at his booted feet.

"I must be missing something," Rosalie enquired, completely bewildered by the scene she had happened upon.

Horace looked up at the sound of her voice, his beetle black eyes shining with the faintest hint of moisture.

His charge set the drinks in her hand on the nearby console table and rushed to his side. "Horace, what's wrong?"

"I'm going back to the Corsicans, where I think I belong."

His response was so short, so foreign, it sounded so wrong to her ears. The statement made Rosalie stammer incoherently for a long moment, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"What do you mean, you're going back to the Corsicans?"

Horace's lips pursed, "I need a different- I just need something different."

"Please don't leave, tell me what you need, there has to be a way we can work this out." She whispered, baffled as to what had happened in the short course of the past few hours which would completely change his mind like this.

Horace's expression was placating, "You will find another head of security, someone who can do the job well-"

Rosalie shook her head frantically, "You do the job well! The job was yours, Horace, it was always meant for you. How could I possibly do this without you?"

"I have no doubt you will be incredible, Rosie." Horace murmured honestly, placing a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

Their eyes met and held for a long moment, both seemingly heartbroken, before Horace picked up his bags and strode out the door.

The silence left by the man's departure was all-consuming, leaving Rosalie frozen in a cacophony of mundane noises all too loud for her to think. The apartment's central air might as well have been a jet turbine, its steady hum was so invasive in her silently panicking mind.

"Where's Horace off to? I thought I heard his sullen voice."

Ted had returned, making his way down toward the kitchen in search of a stiff drink.

Rosalie's fretful expression was impossible to push aside as the other man's voice registered like a deafening bell. Her eyes swam with moisture and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She stared at the door, willing it to open and for her friend to step back through.

"Rosalie?"

The woman turned to her secondary guard, taking several deep breaths before she met his worried gaze.

"Once again, I have to ask too much of you, Teddy." She whispered, working to keep her tone even. "Horace has resigned."

Raymond, who had come looking for his lover and his promised scotch, stood rigid at the top of the open staircase leading from the second floor. He backtracked to Horace's room, opening the door to see the bed was neatly made, and the guard and his possessions were indeed nowhere to be found.

Rosalie was making a few requests of Ted when Red descended into the main living space.

The towering Londoner nodded as the woman lay her most pressing requests at his feet, his face a mask of concern.

Raymond was thankful for Ted's level head as he heard him reassure his young charge.

"I'm sure he will be back. Until then, you can count on me. Anything you need, Rosalie, anything at all."

"You're a dear, Teddy. I will, of course be giving you a substantial raise for taking on the role."

Ted humbly shook his head, "Oh no, m'am, I couldn't-"

"You can and you will. I'm not about to lean on you as the last remaining member of my security without at least paying you well for it."

Raymond saw straight through the firmly erected facade guarding the woman's fragile heart. Her voice was too smooth, too calm, she was too busy ensuring her empire would withstand this blow to allow the truth of her feelings to come to the fore.

Once her immediate concerns with Ted were tended to, Rosalie hurried up to their bedroom with Raymond right behind her.

As they passed Horace's empty room, Rosalie stopped, staring at the neatly folded linens at the foot of the bed with hot tears cascading along her cheeks.

"Raymond, what am I going to do?"

She turned to the only source of comfort afforded her in that moment, and the man met her need, his arms opened wide.

"Come to bed, little dove, let's quiet that mind."

It was 4 a.m. when Raymond woke from a troubled sleep to an empty bed. Rosalie was nowhere to be found, and it set the man on edge.

Red stood and shuffled from the master suite, out into the hall. Moonlight poured in from the large cantilever window beside the office, which upon closer inspection was propped open. He headed for the window and ducked through, making his way up to the patio.

There on one of the wide patio chairs was Rosalie, cradling a glass of gin and peering up into the night, muttering softly to herself.

The sight gnawed at Raymond, the need to comfort her nearly eating him alive. He considered leaving her to her thoughts for a moment, before he saw the trickle of tears running down her face.

The man took the few steps up to the main patio and settled into the space beside her without a word.

"He was my first bodyguard," Rosalie confided with a hearty sniff, "My first friend in this chapter of my life. The very first."

Raymond listened carefully, gathering her into his arms and creating a safe hollow for her, just as she always did for him.

"Should I have known, Raymond? Should I have known he was at his wits end with me? Why does this feel so out of the blue?"

"Because it was out of the blue." Red assured, giving her a squeeze, "I know things had been tense with Horace for the past month, but it genuinely seemed like you two were finally coming back around. I have no clue what changed in the past twenty-four hours to make him decide this."

Rosalie burrowed into Raymond's chest, "I think if I hadn't caught him, he was going to leave without saying goodbye."

Red firmly disagreed, "Horace cares about you, Rosalie, he wouldn't have done such a thing."

The woman remained skeptical, the evidence, in her mind did not stack in favor of Raymond's hypothesis.

"What can I do to help?" Raymond asked, stroking her back and arms, hoping to soothe her.

"Just don't be surprised when I insist on coddling you for the next two days." She replied blithely, fiddling with one of the curlicues on his chest.

"Should I wake Dembe so you can get a head start on fussing over him, too?"

Rosalie let out a reluctant snigger, shaking her head, "Let him sleep."

Raymond's expression turned contemplative, "Why doyou coddle him so?" The question had been arising in his mind all night, his curiosity thoroughly piqued as to why she was so insistent on caring for the young man. Not that it bothered Raymond, he was truthfully quite pleased the two were developing such a close bond. That being said, he was still very curious.

Rosalie turned her head back up to the moon, its pearly glow battling with the city's lights as both cast their rays upon her face.

"My college roommate and her family weren't very close. In actuality, she spent most holidays and vacations with me and my family. My mother doted on Luli like you wouldn't believe. When I asked her what made her coddle Lu so much, she responded with the statement, "Baby, I can't explain it, but I have a bone-deep need to love on her." The young woman's eyes misted slightly, "She said the call to mother that girl was echoing from somewhere in the very foundations of her soul, and she couldn't stifle it if she tried." Rosalie turned with a watery smile toward Raymond, "I never really understood what she meant until I met Dembe."

The older man's head tilted in shock, "Really?"

Rosalie nodded, her eyes soft and utterly transparent, "The call to mother that boy quite literally echoes in a carefully guarded corner of my soul. I don't think I could stifle it if I tried."

Raymond smiled warmly at her, a deep ache settling into his chest at her words.

"I feel the same call to care for you," she confided, "it's just…different."

"Is that so?"

"It's not a desire to mother you," she assured him, "It's more a desire to dote on you. To ensure your happiness. To make you feel safe and cared for." Rosalie felt her face grow hot at her own frankness, but the words still managed to topple out without poise. "It…gnaws at me when you're anxious or angry or tired."

Something clicked into place in Raymond's mind.

"These past few days?" The woman had been especially affectionate and physical since the issue in New York came to light. "The coddling and cuddling, tying my ties, putting my hat on, the copious intimacy, it was for my benefit? To make me feel better?"

"Like I said, I couldn't stifle it if I tried."

"Well, I'm sorry to have made you feel that way..." Raymond didn't much like the idea of her showering him in affection when it was somewhat against her will.

Rosalie cupped his cheek, turning his attention back to her. "You misunderstand, Raymond, these are all the things I love to do anyway. They are all things I very, very much enjoy. It's just…when you need it most, for me, it stops being a want and I-" her eyes fell to his chest, her teeth capturing her bottom lip nervously, "I, too, feel that need."

It was the loveliest sentiment anyone had ever spoken to Raymond Reddington. The notion that his need for comfort and affection, for understanding and intimacy, those most elusive necessities that made a man feel whole.

To know Rosalie recognized, specifically, when he needed them, and that she felt the overwhelming desire to pour out those parts of herself in response, it rocked Raymond to his very foundations.

He pulled her tightly to him, cradling her in a meaningful embrace.

Rosalie burrowed deeper into his hold, stroking his cheek and placing her lips to his neck where her face was buried.

Checking his watch, Raymond noticed it was well past midnight. He whispered roughly in his lover's ear, "Let's sneak off into the night."

"What?" Rosalie asked, thoroughly confused as to where he thought they would be going at the crack of dawn.

"We're getting dressed and going on a hunt for the Tinderbox and that spectacular cigar bar on top of it. We're going to celebrate the simple things. Like the fact that as of approximately four hours and twenty-two minutes ago, you and I have been on the run together for a year."

Rosalie's expression turned to complete shock as she realized the man was right, it was August 16th, a year to the day since Raymond had kidnapped her in Saõ Paulo.

"Come on, what do you say, Rosalie? One last hurrah before your network explodes and another one of my employees tries to ruin me?" He stood and pulled her onto her feet, the cool night cradling that moment when the lights of the city illuminated them both and sound seemed to stop once more.

"Would you do it again, run away with me?" Red asked, his face for once unguarded in its sincerity, one hand outstretched, seeking her.

Rosalie beamed up at him, her eyes burning with emotion as she placed her hand in his.

"In a heartbeat."


	24. A New Norm

_Streets of New York's Greenwich Village - August 16th, 1999 - 4:45 AM_

Raymond and Rosalie slipped quietly out into the night ten minutes later, leaving a hastily scribbled note for their security on the kitchen countertop so they wouldn't get a talking to later.

Red was back in a pale beige suit minus his jacket and tie while his omnipresent fedora, this time in a deep forest green, obscured his face from view. The fugitive took his counterpart by the hand and led her down the apartment steps and around the corner, disappearing into the inky blackness of a nearby alley.

Rosalie followed, not missing a step in her stride as he guided her through a labyrinthine maze of hidden pathways, side streets, and back alleys, leading her North into the heart of the Village.

They emerged two blocks from the mafia headquarters they had left a few short hours ago to make a beeline for an array of aging brick tenements, each quiet and unsuspecting as the last.

At the corner of the hushed street stood an old-fashioned gas lamp post the likes of which once dotted the entirety of the neighborhood's quaint streets. The fixture looked like it belonged, as though it had been there for decades, standing resolute and weathered alongside its firebrick compatriots, all remnants of a bygone era.

Raymond, however, knew this post had been erected all of two weeks ago, as the infamous Tinderbox club disappeared from its last secret locale near Lexington Ave. A little digging within the underground informed him the proprietors of the space already had this new property prepared. They opened the night prior, just in time for the illustrious NYPD to attempt a sting operation on the now-abandoned Upper East Side hideout.

It had been the man's intent to take Rosalie here after their dinner that night, but the unearthing of Howard Bukowski sidelined his plans. Their restlessness thankfully provided a second opportunity to revisit the club which held such significance for Raymond and Rosalie.

Reaching the post, Red beamed excitedly back at his counterpart.

Rosalie's dress was made of a soft chiffon in a dusky indigo, causing her shapely figure to disappear easily with him into the darkness. The material floated about her frame as though it were made from the very air whirling about them, showcasing glimpses of the supple curves which so often set Red's body on fire.

She smiled indulgently before lifting a hand to touch the surface of the post.

Raymond lifted his own hand, guiding her fingers to brush a small, raised hexagon tucked within one of the exterior ridges. Prodding the object, they looked up to watch a small cylinder rise within the lamp's flame. As the fire came into contact with the cylinder, a chemical compound Raymond knew must be copper chloride, the light proceeded to turn from a soft yellow to a rich cobalt blue.

The change in the small flame caused a chain reaction.

The remaining lights along the street went out, casting them into near total darkness. Off to their right, the pair saw another blue light glowing near the ground.

Rosalie's hand still held firmly in his own, Raymond approached the set of sidewalk cellar doors nestled between two storefronts, from which the light was emanating. Their metal facings were painted with a chipped green lacquer, portions of the sides and corners eroding away to crackled and crumbling rust.

A voice issued from the small gap in the metal, a sultry, smooth female voice posing a password riddle.

"I'm Riley's favored lady. He plucked my heartstrings, danced his fingers along my ebony face, and in his sorrow, we've made a duet for the ages. I raised him up from the hallowed clay of the Deep South and made him a King. What is my name?"

Raymond's shot the door a quizzical look. This wasn't the riddle he had been given, and he doubted the answer would be the same.

He glanced sheepishly at Rosalie, who gave a broad grin, her warm voice uttering a lone word:

"_Lucille_."

The cellar doors flung themselves wide, showcasing a short set of stairs leading into a hallway lit with cobalt blue lights.

The pair descended the steps side by side, the doors closing behind them as they tracked a length of black carpet to a blank stretch of white subway tile wall, turned blue by the lights.

"Good Evening, Patron."

The woman who had posed the riddle strode across their field of vision, tapping a series of tiles in a specific pattern before continuing her trek to the end of the narrow hall.

The wall before them split and opened, showcasing the entry of a moody lounge done up in a polished ebony finish. The room glinted with shining brass fixtures and the same antique mirrors which had covered the walls the last time they had located the establishment.

The same fashionable and mysterious hostess also stepped forward, "Welcome back Ms. Øllegaard, Mr. Reddington, the Tinderbox is thrilled to have you."

Rosalie smiled genially at the other woman, "Hello Bonnie, what kind of tricks are you all up to today?"

The hostess beamed brightly at her, "Something one of a kind and terribly exciting; we just had a very special guest arrive on stage."

Raymond and Rosalie shared a curious glance as a bluesy chord echoed from the far end of the room.

They had been planning to simply make their way up to the Cherry cigar club which was undoubtedly on the roof, but the hostess's excitement and the haunting sound of an electric guitar warming its strings had Raymond quickly gesturing toward the opposite side of the club.

"Could we get a secluded spot with a view of the stage?"

Bonnie nodded, indicating the two fugitives should follow her.

The venue stretched the interior of three full row houses, as though the buildings had been gutted to form one large, open concert hall. Faux windows took the place of their real counterparts, ensuring the space still had the feel of several gutted brownstones while keeping the location's activities a complete secret. Everything from the crown molding to the fake window sills was bathed in a cobalt blue light, giving the whole space a dark, saturnine allure.

Bonnie guided them to a very private corner booth tucked on the far side of a structural pillar, casting the two in shadow and safeguarding them from any onlookers.

Raymond murmured his thanks and ushered Rosalie into the small booth made of glossy, obsidian wood and plush cushions in a deep sapphire velvet. His smile grew as he saw her staring in complete shock at the occupied stage.

Red ordered their drinks before leaning into her ear, "My God, this is a surprise even I couldn't have planned."

Seated in a chair center stage, bathed in blue and white light, and happily plucking out a gut-wrenching blues riff, was the one and only, B.B. King.

"...I am so happy we snuck out." Rosalie whispered, her eyes not once leaving the musician.

King was in a pristine white tuxedo shirt, the ends of his bowtie lay untied on either side of his neck, a vibrantly patterned tuxedo jacket draped across the back of his chair. He was relaxed as could be, his entire visage wrought with emotion as he pulled forth a dark melody from a shining black Gibson guitar.

"That's why the password changed." Red sighed, "It was originally something else entirely, but the proprietors must have altered the riddle the moment he stepped inside."

Rosalie nodded, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her upturned palm. "In his sorrow we made a duet for the ages..."

"B.B. King's duet partner throughout the years has been his guitar," Raymond deduced, watching the man's nimble fingers move effortlessly along the instrument's fretboard.

His partner turned toward him, a bright smile illuminating her features. "A black Gibson...named _Lucille_."

The two shared a knowing look before their combined gaze returned to the front, watching riveted as the legendary guitarist wandered his way into the impromptu set.

His voice and music was a raspy moan, an abiding ache, and utterly divine. In other words, everything the blues should be.

They listened in communal silence as the set continued, passing from despairing, tender ballads to more wild, wailing numbers, a few jazz tracks slipping into the mix as well.

Red found himself teetering between watching the legend before him and staring at the woman beside him.

Rosalie was caught in a sliver of blue light which made her dark eyes look black as she listened intently to the music pouring from the stage. Each piece pulled a little more emotion from her features, laying her bare in ways Raymond hadn't seen before.

He could see now that the dark orbs shimmered ever so slightly, moisture pooling at the lash-framed rims. She felt every note played, the sound and words making her insides ache with a heavy weight.

He understood what plagued her, perhaps better than anyone else in her acquaintance.

Rosalie had experienced more of Red's world in the past 24 hours than he had ever intended she be privy to. She watched him actively hunt down one of his own associates, had assisted in the matter by dipping into her own contacts, and it had been she who had ultimately lured Howard to his demise. The past two days were never part of Raymond's plan, but Rosalie had taken up his side in the matter, unflinchingly and without question. She made the conscious choice to forfeit the life of another human being.

Red feared, in the process, her decision had also facilitated the loss of her nearest and dearest friend.

At second glance, Horace's departure had been unexpected, but not unfathomable.

Things simply hadn't been right in their group since Raymond and Rosalie returned from Norway, though Red had truly believed the bodyguard was ready to patch things up with the woman.

The altercation at the Coroner's seemed to have re-flipped the switch, and it turned out to be the last straw for Horace.

Now, Rosalie was no doubt feeling guilty for her hand in Howard's death and terribly alone after the loss of her right-hand man.

His hypothesis was confirmed when she surreptitiously placed her hand beside his on the table top, her fingers searching for contact.

Raymond readily obliged, taking her hand in his and brushing his thumb soothingly over her knuckles.

Rosalie squeezed him in thanks, returning her attention to the musician before them.

The beautiful tones of a blues legend, though thrilling, were also haunting and difficult to hear when one's entire life suddenly seemed upside down. The lonesome echoes, the tightening and loosening strains of melody, they all pulled at the heartstrings of both criminals, making them want to linger in the tune while also yearning for the release of the song's end.

Red pressed his lips to the top of Rosalie's hand, taking as much comfort in the contact as she did.

As the music began to take a more upbeat turn, couples started filtering onto the dance floor in front of the stage.

Raymond grinned, turning to whisper to his companion. "Come along, beautiful."

He firmly but gently tugged Rosalie from the booth and onto the floor, spinning her easily into his outstretched arms.

She let out a delighted, tinkling laugh, contentedly falling in step with the dance into which he lead her. "This was a wonderful idea, Raymond."

"I had no idea you were a blues fan." Red murmured softly to her, holding her close as they began to sway in time with the music.

"I was raised in the South," Rosalie whispered back, "Not the Deep South, or the Delta, but… Blues has always been like coming home after being away for an awfully long time." Her voice held a slight quaver to it, belying how much the music affected her.

Raymond held her in stunned silence, his eyes glued to the slender fingers entwined with his. He couldn't help but wonder if Rosalie actually meant to tell him where she grew up, or if it just slipped out.

He had learned enough about the woman to rattle her cage when they first met, but the fact was the overwhelming majority of her past was a complete mystery to him.

In truth, they both guarded their previous lives with utmost care.

Raymond didn't begrudge Rosalie those secrets, but that did not stop him from being taken aback and a little thrilled to have unraveled a thread of the tapestry that was her mystique. He beamed as he spun her out and back, then dipped the curvaceous little frame low, his lips brushing hers teasingly.

The two were determined to have a good time, despite the sobering events of the past few days.

When the music turned to the next swinging number, Raymond lead her into a particular blues step he knew well.

The young woman's face was transported into incandescent recognition, "Really, Raymond...a _savoy walk_? Where on earth did you learn such a thing?"

"I've got all kinds of moves you've yet to see, little dove," he purred against her ear, guiding her through the dance floor with ease.

The savoy walk was a two-step ballroom blues which blended a touch of pas de deux with the excitement of a lindy hopper to create the smooth, playful step capable of traveling effortlessly across any dance hall. Red wasn't about to divulge he had learned the dance from a ravishing brunette he'd met in Baton Rouge a year before Howard had introduced them to each other, but he truthfully had been looking forward to trying the little number with his current dance partner.

Raymond had always enjoyed taking women out dancing. It was an easy opportunity to woo and charm, as well as a ready-made excuse to keep his companion pressed tightly to him all night long.

Rosalie had always known Raymond was an adept dancer, but tonight he seemed to genuinely let himself loose.

His movements were smooth and sensual, brimming with palpable confidence and a distinct roguishness. Like a panther chasing his prey, he pursued her through the crowd, step by step, spinning her out and snatching her back at his leisure.

The woman giggled and beamed all the while, gladly following his lead, leaning into his hold and dipping her hips in time with the music.

The other patrons made way for the couple who obviously had more of a clue what they were doing than the rest, several dancers stopping to peer interestedly at the poised and dapper pair.

Normally the two focused on maintaining a low profile, but their need to simply enjoy each other's company won out this night. They commanded the dance floor for the length of several songs, laughing and murmuring enjoyably to one another amongst the swinging echoes of the band.

King held one last shimmering note, his fingertips fluttering along the lone string a full ten seconds before his voice quietened to nothingness, the unexpected concert reaching its end.

The hall filled with applause and the patrons at the bistro tables and the dance floor in front of the stage erupted into a standing ovation as the musician waved to the crowd.

Rosalie turned to look up at her companion, finding his eyes firmly fixed upon her, keen and thoughtful. She quickly brushed the slight mist from the corners of her eyes and kissed his cheek, drawing him from his stupor. "Let's go up to the roof, I want you all to myself."

The two moved before the house lights could be turned up and made their way to the far corner of the building, where a small glass elevator had been installed.

Rosalie felt the warm, comforting weight of Raymond's hand on the small of her back as they stepped inside and were hoisted up to the roof.

His lips brushed the nape of her neck as they reached their destination, sending a little shiver down her frame before the doors to the elevator slid open.

Red guided them out onto a blue carpet leading toward the bespoke humidor room where the sommelier stood waiting for them, his glass walls packed with a wide range of fine cigars in polished mahogany and cedar cases. Rosalie chose a robust Arturo Fuente she had been hoping to try, while Red allowed himself to be swayed into a rare and rather large Gurkha he had been eyeing since their first visit to the place. They moved on through to the bar, picking up their usual poisons before they came upon Clyde, the young host of the rooftop establishment.

"Welcome back to the Cherry, Ms. Øllegaard, Mr. Reddington, it's been a while."

The pair smiled at the young man, who stood in the only gap in a tall wall of boxwood.

"This place is just full of surprises tonight." Raymond commented, pointing at the hedge and the floor below.

Clyde grinned, "Oh yes, B.B. just came in from another unplanned gig at the Vanguard, said he wanted to play a little while longer, so, of course, we set the stage."

"Ah, the Village Vanguard," Red grinned wistfully. "A magnificent little hole in the wall- well, floor," he corrected, "So much history, so many spectacular recordings were cut in that basement." He turned toward his companion, gesturing emphatically. "The whole place smells of beer and legend. Ah! and Lorraine, oh, she runs the show now. My God, you'd love her. I once took her dancing after a late Saturday show and try as I may, I could not keep up with her. That woman could jitterbug like you would not believe!"

Rosalie tittered at the tale and his excitable retelling, "Why on earth haven't we gone?"

Raymond waggled his eyebrows, "It's a date I've been planning. Speaking of which," he turned back to Clyde, "We're looking for a quiet spot in and amongst your smoking shrubbery."

His finger pointed toward the hedge walls which did indeed have curls of cigar smoke unfurling overhead.

Clyde chuckled, "Of course, sir, if you'll follow me?"

The couple did as he bid, following him into what turned out to be an actual hedge maze. The walls of boxwood occupied the entirety of the remaining space on the three rooftops, creating a twisting pathway with hidden hollows and secret rooms for guests. The center of the maze was a communal area in which to sit and smoke. A majority of the swirling grey clouds were coming from this space, where a contingent of portly men puffed languidly.

Clyde ushered them into a cozy alcove with a pair of plush armchairs in a soft cream leather and a sleek, smoked glass table settled low with two black marble ashtrays resting on its face. "Our new labyrinth setup is meant for privacy, thus I won't bother you unless you request my assistance." He pointed to the corner of the alcove, where a miniature of the lamppost they found on the street corner stood waiting, its light poking just above the hedge. Clyde immediately took his leave thereafter, leaving the pair in blissful solitude.

In a manner most unlike herself, Rosalie immediately kicked off her heels, sliding sideways into the nearest chair as her stocking-clad legs draped over one arm and her head rested against the other.

Red smiled at her antics, caressing the length of one of her calves before settling into the seat across from her. "I hope I didn't wear you out already, my dear."

His eyes roamed her relaxed figure hungrily, enjoying the wealth of upper thigh exposed by this new position. The creamy skin was framed by garter straps in a blue so dark they looked almost black.

Rosalie let out a wry giggle, turning her head toward her companion. "I know I'm not being very lady-like, but the past 24 hours really have been the absolute pits."

Raymond actually laughed, lifting from the headrest to better peruse her body. "I'm quite content with this new angle. The view is lovely."

Rosalie scoffed in response, demurely attempting to shift the hem of her dress. The delicate material merely slid back down per gravity's dictates. She sighed and waved a careless hand, giving the garment up as a lost cause.

Red sniggered at her cavalier response, "I see we're back in our stockings." He was feeling a bit more playful as they settled into their routine, and was content to needle his companion in his usual fashion.

The woman's slender fingers traced one of the dark straps bisecting her thigh, thoughtfully plucking at the taut silk. The sight made Raymond shift restlessly in his seat.

"It cooled down just enough for me to put them back on. I feel naked without them, and as much as I do enjoy being in the buff, I prefer not to feel so exposed in public."

"You needed the comfort of familiarity." Red corrected knowingly, catching the woman off guard with his insight.

"Shall we maintain our tradition?" She swiftly changed the subject, gesturing to their drinks. They always discussed their mutual business for the length of one cocktail before breezing past the topic to more interesting things.

Raymond smirked, "I suppose, get it out of the way before the brandy arrives."

Rosalie took a long sip of her gin and tonic before turning back to him.

"So, what happens with Howard's family?"

Red settled deeper into his chair with a frown. "His family will be cared for in perpetuity, as promised, even though he was a turncoat. His wife and children didn't opt into Howard's poor career choices."

"Howard's wife never knew his line of work?"

He shook his head, "The contraband portion of my business operates under a number of dummy corporations, complete with their own systems of controls. Kate will contact the family in the morning and feed them a false tale of Howard's demise, making it sound like a late night work-related accident with a fake OSHA investigation and all. His family will receive a fat settlement in trust and will be able to bury him the way they wish. Kate's already prepped the body and the coroner to whom he has been sent is on my payroll, same with the mortician."

Raymond released a heavy sigh, staring up into the night sky. "He'll have a proper funeral, his family will grieve, and that will be that." He uttered the statement without inflection or movement. His deep voice, to the untrained ear, could have come off as bored, but Rosalie new better at this stage of their acquaintance.

Red lifted his head and caught the woman worrying her bottom lip and tapping her fingers against her glass.

"You feel badly for handing him over."

Rosali looked up to find him holding her in a shrewd gaze, green eyes seeming to strip her down to her foundations with a simple blink.

"I should have helped him," she blurted, "I could have traded his safety for the information you sought. Sequestering his family in my network could have deterred him from betraying you further."

Raymond didn't move, didn't so much as twitch as he listened, his head tilted in dark curiosity.

"Yet you didn't," he observed thoughtfully, "Instead you stepped into action with a ruthlessly clever plan. You knew exactly how to convince him and the Coroner to trust you."

"That reminds me," Rosalie pounced on the opportunity to divert their discussion. "If anyone asks, you outbid me on a property in Geneva and that's why I despise you so."

Red snorted, "My goodness, fictional you is awfully…"

"Petty?" Rosalie rolled her eyes when he nodded, "I know, what does it say about me that the Coroner so easily believed such a weak explanation?"

Raymond was still chortling into his scotch glass, "It says he's not a very good judge of character, and you, little dove, may have missed your calling."

"Ah, yes, can you see me now? Lighting up the silver screen?" Rosalie draped a dramatic hand across her brow, looking the very picture of a despondent starlet.

Raymond smirked slyly at her, his relentless curiosity catching her attempt to distract from the issue at hand and allowing none of it. He quickly brought them back to Howard Bukowski, "The whole incident couldn't have lasted more than ten minutes from door to door. You eased him into my grasp without so much as a drop of hesitation. Why?"

Rosalie fidgeted with her straw, taking the time to carefully choose her words.

"Because I felt we were all in danger. I should have harbored him as I promised… I should have given him safe passage. Yet, if I'm being honest, I believed in my gut we couldn't risk his continued existence."

Red watched intently as one side of Rosalie warred with the other. Her inner criminal was having a knock-down, drag-out fight with her inner guardian over her actions.

There would come a time when the two sides would be forced to merge. It would be a rough, unpleasant transition, but Rosalie would manage it in her stride, just as Raymond had.

She rotated to a sitting position and shook her head in dismay, "I swept in dressed in the guise of a sanctuary and instead facilitated his demise. I know I should have thicker skin, but it bothers me to find out I'm quite the hypocrite after all."

"No," Raymond's eyes were soft and the corners of his mouth lifted in a reassuring half-smile. "What you are is so wonderfully human, my dear. Don't ever aspire to lose that."

Rosalie crossed her legs and took another long sip of her drink while she considered her counterpart.

"How do you not lose your humanity in a world like ours?"

"Not without difficulty." He conceded, "No matter the role we play in someone else's death, we all feel that human part of ourselves in that moment; that piece of us which demands we remember we too are mortal, vulnerable, desirous of mercy. It's why Dembe and I are so miserable after days like these. It's why you feel that lead weight in your gut as we speak."

Rosalie's hand subconsciously lifted to her abdomen, shocked to discover he knew all about the heavy, nauseating feeling roiling its discontent therein.

"Make no mistake, Rosalie, I don't take a life if it can be in any way avoided. I also don't go around killing people who don't deserve it. Yet when I am forced into the role of judge, jury, and executioner, I don't hesitate. It must be done, and by my hand, no less. The business and reputation I've built comes with certain obligations which must be lived up to. Perhaps that makes me the hypocrite."

Rosalie scowled at this, "You don't deserve to die."

Red issued a dry, unpleasant laugh. His demeanor had turned a touch bitter, an acidic tone trickling into his voice. "I did so hope you would agree with me on that. Some, however, would argue differently."

"They don't know you."

Rosalie's voice was soft and gentle, brimming with absolute conviction. "Those people, the ones who think you deserve such a fate, they think they know you but they really don't. Not in the slightest."

Red pulled out a cigar cutter, making a bit of a meal of prepping his Gurkha as he contemplated her response.

"You think you know me, but you don't." He admitted darkly, meeting her gaze as he pulled out a heavy metal lighter. She hadn't yet seen the full extent of the darkness which inhabited him, and Raymond was determined she never would.

Rosalie cast a placid smile upon him, the warmth in her expression unshaken by his suddenly dour declaration. "I know what I need to know."

"Not everything." Red advised, taking a puff and exhaling a long plume of smoke into the air.

"Not everything," Rosalie agreed, easing the cigar cutter and lighter from his grasp, "and I don't believe for a single second I'll ever know everything there is to know about you."

Raymond scowled at her in distinct confusion, an unpleasant corner of his psyche convinced she couldn't possibly be happy with such a scenario. "How does that truth not bother you?"

Rosalie meticulously rolled the tip of her cigar amongst the lighter's flame, "It's one of the things I value most in our relationship. I plan to spend the foreseeable future seeking out every one of your nooks and crannies, knowing full well I'll never uncover them all."

Her dark eyes glinted with their usual mischief as she turned toward her companion, blowing a smoke ring up into the air. "We'll never run out of surprises, you and I. Individually and together, we will always be a mystery. I can't think of a more thrilling raison de vivre."

Raymond let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, slouching back into his seat in what could only be construed as disbelief.

"I told you in Sienna," Rosalie reminded him pointedly, "I know the man I see every day, the man with whom I spend my nights." Her glass lifted in acknowledgement, "I know you well, just as you know me. The important bits, the why behind our actions, our grand schemes. We may not know every last detail, but we don't need to. We need just enough to convince ourselves the other is good, loyal, and kind. Not by the rest of the world's standards, but by our own."

Raymond dearly wanted to believe that. He longed to find solace in the possibility that such a life could ever be enough.

"Need I bring up the fact you promised me the pieces of yourself which you withhold from the rest of the world? Do you really think being the only one to have those carefully guarded corners of you wouldn't be enough for me?" It was Rosalie's turn to scowl in disbelief, her slender brows lifting with a touch of incredulity.

"I'm not foolish enough not to wonder. It robs a piece of us to do the deed, to assist," Red gestured in her direction, "To fail at preventing someone else from taking a life," he gestured toward himself, "It takes from me just as it takes from them. It kills a part of me, too…" Raymond faltered in his explanation, that human part of him pulsing with an angry ache. "Such an act rips a hole in the fabric of my being every time. As it should. It often leaves me feeling as though I somehow have less to give you."

His rigid posture and brusque tone was not lost on Rosalie, "What do you do, to soothe that tear in your soul?"

"The only option is to patch it as best I can with the knowledge that what I'm doing is ensuring the survival of those few things I hold dear."

"Does it work?"

Raymond gave a derisive scoff, eyes tilting toward the heavens as he leaned back in his chair. "Rarely."

"Well," Rosalie stood, placing her empty glass on the table between them and moving to settle herself in his lap. "I may have just found my calling after all."

"Going to patch me up, good as new?" He knew he sounded curt and more than a tad acerbic as he set his empty scotch glass next to hers. Red didn't know why the notion bothered him so, nor what had facilitated his mood's downward spiral.

"I can't make you whole again," Rosalie crossed her legs, gently holding his gaze, "Nothing will do that, and I won't patronize you by insinuating so. What I can do is soothe that spot, knitting it back together with a little of my own humanity. You will allow me to do that much, at the very least, Raymond."

Red chuckled and tucked a curl behind her ear, his taciturn mood evaporating into the ether just as suddenly as it had appeared. "Are you demanding to be the one to sew me back together again, Ms. Øllegaard?"

"I think you'll find I'm a dab hand at sewing." She retorted, cupping his cheek in one warm, soft hand, her thumb thoughtfully tracing his jawline. "You need a good woman behind you, darling."

Raymond's expression became serious as he turned to place his lips to her palm, "Are you available? I must admit I've grown rather fond of your methods."

Rosalie sniggered, "Agh, I knew it. You must woo all the ladies this way."

"That depends, is it working?" His voice was a low, rumbling purr which made the woman in his lap blush profusely.

A wide smile lit her features as she settled deeper into his hold, peering pensively up at him. "You won't hide those parts from me, Raymond. You will learn to believe me when I say they are enough, tattered and raw though they may be. Those pieces of you are mine to care for. I need you to let me do that."

Red's mouth pursed amusedly at her demands, "To get, one must be willing to give, little dove."

"I'm happy to give, you need only ask." She countered, fingertips stroking the space where the first few buttons of his shirt were opened, giving him a slight reprieve from the endless humidity. Rosalie nuzzled into the patch of exposed skin, breathing in the comforting blend of scents and placing her lips against his warm chest.

Red hummed his contentment, "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Her lips wandered the edge of his collar, working their way up his neck and making him tighten his hold around her. She was pleased the conversation had settled into a more pleasant domain when Raymond made his request.

"If that's truly the case, then I need you to be as compassionate with yourself as you are with everyone else." His voice rumbled low and deep, the sound vibrating against the soft lips traversing his throat.

Rosalie halted her exploration, sheepishly avoiding his knowing stare.

Red thread his fingers through her long, honey blonde waves, turning her to meet his gaze. "You need to give yourself permission to be who and what you need to be in order to thrive in this life. That means forgiving yourself for your hand in Howard's death and for outgrowing your right hand, all in the same night."

Rosalie's eyes shifted back toward his chest. They had come around to Horace, the topic she had been dreading the most.

Raymond lifted her chin with his index finger, "You are coming into your own, little dove, and at a breakneck speed. If you allow yourself to be bogged down with guilt, you won't have the necessary flexibility to proceed forward. The upcoming months will spell the future for your domain and your life. You owe it to yourself to meet the next chapter unencumbered by things you can't change."

"What if I'm in the wrong?"

Rosalie admitted her insecurity in a small, quiet voice, her dark eyes flashing imploringly toward his. "So much has changed in the past year, what if Horace left because I'm no longer who I was? I can't deny I feel different, but I- am I wrong, Raymond? Have I become something...something bad?"

Red cupped her cheek, carefully hiding his ire that Horace's departure could make her question her own goodness.

"Rosalie, you have changed, more than any of us. You aren't who you were a year ago, and that's okay."

He stopped and hit the call button, the small lamp above them glowing a rich cerulean blue. "We're going to need another drink." He sighed, before settling back into his seat. "To be forthright, the realization hit me back in Hong Kong, when I was watching you with Baldur. This was before you and I had even had our little lesson on intense negotiations, mind…It was like being back in Sao Paulo all over again, only this time, it was with a completely different Rosalie Øllegaard."

Rosalie looked mortified, "Was it really that different?"

An amused chuckle rumbled from the vicinity of Red's chest. "God, yes! With me, you were still so green, so careful and calculated. You were admittedly were a teensy bit mouthy, and you used this delectable little figure of yours to painful perfection, but more than all of that, you were alert and immensely cautious. Precious little of that woman came to the fore with Baldur Magnusson."

"We-" she frowned, "Well, what the hell was I supposed to do? He just took me, without any regard to propriety or consent!"

Raymond laughed outright, "You're damn right he did. A colossal misstep on his part. You decided then and there you wanted nothing to do with such a man and snapped back at him like a bear trap. It was spectacular." His eyes turned wistful and distant as he recalled the memory quite fondly, "Gone was the demure innkeeper and there stood the formidable fugitive, unflinching in her righteous discontent. You were quite displeased to find yourself kidnapped by another would-be client, and you made that displeasure quite evident. You set a very powerful player on his heels, demanded your boundaries be respected, and didn't once apologize for it. Baldur will carry that bit of information far and wide, and you will find his experience will significantly alter how other potential clients approach you from here on out."

Clyde appeared in the doorway to their alcove with an indulgent smile, carefully avoiding the canoodling couple's combined gaze as he dropped off two snifters of fine brandy and took their empty glasses.

"Thank you, Clyde." Rosalie grimaced adorably from her perch atop Reddington's lap.

The young host nodded with a slight blush tinging his cheeks before he hurried from the vicinity.

Rosalie bent and lifted both snifters, passing one to her companion before wriggling back into his hold.

Raymond carried on as though they had not been interrupted. "The trajectory of your life was set in motion long ago. You set out to create it for yourself, and you're very nearly there. If Horace left because you've changed, then it's his own fault for not seeing how necessary that development is."

Rosalie fidgeted with the buttons of his shirt, obviously trying to take his words to heart.

Red lifted a hand to cup the side of her face in one large palm. "Little dove, there is nothing wrong with the choices you've made or the person you've become."

A teardrop suddenly trickled in a hot line down her cheek, caught by the man's broad thumb brushing over the soft, flushed skin. She was hurting so deeply, and felt so frightened for what the next few months would hold. Those warm, compassionate words, uttered in that endlessly comforting voice managed to touch a painfully raw piece of Rosalie's soul, cradling it in a fragile hold.

Raymond's chest ached at how lost she looked, how the fear and hurt were so evident in her features. His internal need to soothe those emotions in her was damn near suffocating, pressing upon Red the importance of caring for the lovely creature perched delicately in his lap.

Placing her glass back on the nearby table, Rosalie turned into Raymond's embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly.

Red gathered his lover tightly to him, one hand fisted in her honeyed curls while the other lay splayed against the small of her back. He held her to his pleasure, partaking in the plump sweetness of her lips with fervor.

A tiny moan worked its way out of her throat as she surrendered to his possession, asking nothing more than to be kept in the sanctuary of his embrace.

Raymond understood; Rosalie desperately needed to feel safe, to feel stable, and he was inordinately pleased she so openly sought that reassurance from him. He felt her need and readily complied, surrounding her with his warm, masculine frame.

"I'll make you a deal," Red bargained, breaking the kiss but keeping her feminine curves clutched tightly to him. "I'll trust you to be my seamstress when this life tears into me, but I need you to give me one thing in return."

Rosalie lifted a lone, cautious brow, "What is that?"

"Things are going to get rough for a while, but you will trust me to help guide you to the other side."

He couldn't help a gentle smile as his companion peered confusedly at him. He clarified, "You aren't alone in this, Rosalie. I promised you we would build our world as we see fit, and this is just the beginning of it."

He cupped her cheek once more, holding her eyes to his, "You will allow me to care for you, little dove."

She nodded, a little too quickly for him to be convinced. Red needed her to fully realize what he was asking.

Rosalie was a capable and intelligent woman, but that would never stop him from needing to be the one to protect her, to shelter her from the worst of their world.

Raymond would not settle for being anything less than the Gibraltar to her raging sea. He would be just as much her safe harbor as she was his. He wanted to solidify those feelings of belonging which were unearthed in Norway and cultivate them into something deep and lasting.

They were crossing a new threshold within their partnership, their relationship, and Red had to know if she was ready for it.

"I need you to understand what I mean by such a statement. These next several months will be the foundation of everything. It's going to be an all-out sprint down a muddy hill, and most criminals don't come out the other side alive or well. So, when it all becomes too much, I'm insisting you allow me to shoulder what you're too weary to carry, knowing it in no way reflects on your abilities. I simply can't let you experience what I went through in building my empire. I won't allow it. I need you to let me take up this role, Rosalie."

She held his piercing gaze for several long moments before answering.

"Okay," she whispered, "I can do that."

A primal corner of Red was set ablaze by her tender acquiescence, his hands moving to her hips and the nape of her neck, holding her in a firm grip. This was an ask he had been deeply wanting, but bided his time before demanding, waiting for the right set of scenarios.

"You'll let me do that, little dove?" His voice was an impossibly deep rumble, which made Rosalie shiver from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

She gave a dazed nod, her warm gray eyes gazing ardently from beneath dark, fluttering lashes. A carefully protected piece of herself flowed forth to meet him, willing and truthfully relieved at his request.

"I'll let you do that." She promised, leaning forward, needing him closer. "I need that too."

Raymond kissed her again, clinging greedily to that promise and readily taking up his duty of comforting her. His lips trailed her cheeks and neck, peppering her skin with soothing affection, surrounding her with his calming presence.

Rosalie relaxed into his touch, returning his gentle caresses with ones of her own.

When they finally settled down, Raymond returned her brandy snifter to her hand before taking his own and clinking it softly against hers. "To another eventful year, my dear."

Rosalie radiated contentment, beaming warmly up at her companion, "Would you do it all again?"

Red's brows lifted in surprise, glancing impishly down at her. "Kidnapping you? After what I saw with Baldur? Not a chance."

The woman laughed a tinkling bell of mirth before swatting his chest playfully.

Raymond's sensual chuckle mixed with her laugh, the sound positively delightful to their ears. He sighed once they quietened, "I'd steal you away again at the drop of a hat. It's been great fun, being on the run with you."

Rosalie smiled into her brandy snifter, "I don't suppose we could be on the run somewhere near the arctic circle? I love New York, but it's hotter than hell and half of Georgia here just now."

Red waggled his eyebrows at her, "Oddly enough I did hear whispers about a copper mine ripe for the plucking somewhere in Siberia."

Rosalie took a sip of her brandy and rested her head on his forearm, sighing contentedly when his fingers intertwined with hers.

"I could buy a place in Siberia..."

The two strolled casually back to the safehouse as the early morning light began to creep over the city skyline. Rosalie was nestled against Raymond's side, her eyes growing heavier with each step they took. A soft smile lit her features when she felt the low, deep rumble of his voice against her ear while he regaled her with another sordid tale from his early criminal days. This particular yarn involved the bootlegging of highly concentrated moonshine whose potency Red swore made it indistinguishable from rocket fuel.

The pair sniggered to themselves as they tip-toed up the home's steps, into the quiet foyer and up to their cool, dark bedroom.

Once the door was closed, Raymond wasted no time taking Rosalie into his arms.

A moan left his lips when she reciprocated the embrace, claiming his mouth in a voracious kiss as her own hands roamed his back and shoulders.

"_Ray_," she sighed, leisurely lifting the delicate material of her dress and guiding it over her head.

Red's hands followed the dress's retreat up the planes of her torso, leaving a burning trail of goose flesh in their wake.

Rosalie mewed at his touch, discarding the garment at the foot of the bed before dutifully undoing the buttons of his shirt, her lips seeking his once more.

"Show me, little dove," he murmured, watching hungrily as her small hands diligently freed him from the now-cumbersome clothing. "Show me what you need."

The woman whimpered her arousal and kissed him more insistently, her lips carrying a warm, wet trail down his torso. Her dark eyes flickered with heat as she divested him of every last stitch, the lithe little figure giving an excited shiver when he finally stood naked before her.

Raymond's powerful frame dwarfed Rosalie's in all the best ways. He was half a head taller than her when she was in heels, and a full head taller than her as she stood in her stockings and precious little else. He was broad in stature and all-encompassing in persona, making for a thrilling and enticing lover.

Rosalie's breath hitched as his masculine hands encapsulated her waist, moving up to her ribcage and deftly undoing the clasp of her bra.

Raymond clutched her more tightly, lowering his mouth to each taut nipple as it became exposed.

His lover held him to his pastime, shuddering sighs of pleasure pouring from her lips as his mouth tormented each tender pink bud. Red growled grumpily when she wriggled from his grasp, striding over to the bed and bending impishly over the plush mattress's edge.

He tracked her across the room, his eyes blown wide with lust as each of her little hands turned to sneak a thumb beneath the lace of her panties, shimmying the last of her lingerie over the ample curve of her derrière.

Raymond moaned longingly, watching the minuscule garment's progress down her toned legs. Her panties were followed by the deep blue garter straps and each of her opaque stockings before she slowly straightened her back, baring herself to him at long last.

"Come here, darling."

Rosalie's voice was a lusty, mischievous purr as she climbed up on the bed, kneeling in its cushy center and crooking a lone finger in his direction, beckoning him to her.

Raymond damn near lost it when that finger trickled down her stomach to tease the apex of her thighs. The digit circled and frolicked amongst the neatly trimmed blonde curls between her legs, skirting the entrance of his favored sanctuary with no regard for how it drove him wild to see her touch herself.

He crossed the room in a single stride and was on the bed in a millisecond, pinning his wicked little siren beneath him and nipping a heated trail from her breasts to her earlobes.

Rosalie squealed and giggled, squirming beneath the assault.

Raymond chuckled into the sensitive hollow of her neck, "You like being teased, don't you, pet?"

The woman nodded feverishly, her bottom lip caught between her white teeth. "More," she pleaded, running her fingers through the wealth of dark blonde curls covering his chest.

The broad expanse of his pectorals lifted at her touch, encouraging such familiarity.

Red growled and rocked forward when that expedition descended to his pelvis, her tiny hands stroking and teasing the rigid length of his cock.

Rosalie rolled them so he was on his back, allowing her more room to play. She continued to stroke him, her other hand dropping to massage and fondle his testicles as well.

The action had the man groaning his growing need, the full sack already aching to empty itself inside Rosalie's tight body.

The velvety soft weight of Raymond's erection felt lovely filling Rosalie's hand to capacity. Her slender fingers spread with each pass, making the young woman's mind swim with thoughts of feeling the thick appendage sliding between her lips as well.

Determined to have her way, she dropped a trail of kisses down her lover's torso to his hips, where she nipped and licked her way to his shaft.

The appendage flexed excitedly at her attention, a small droplet of pre-cum beading at the sensitive slit atop the bulging crown.

The woman smiled at her favored playmate, placing her lush lips to its weeping head.

Red hissed with pleasure at the contact, his toes curling in delight as her little pink tongue flicked daintily along his sensitive flesh.

"God, honey, _please_."

Rosalie felt Raymond's fingertips thread through her hair and she glanced up to see his lust-addled visage focused entirely on her. She fell into his heated stare, mewing her enjoyment while he gently brushed aside the blonde waves obscuring his view.

She could never tire of making love with this man. In all the varied ways they pursued their pleasure, he was always the pinnacle of eroticism, that unrelenting masculine sensuality which filled her feminine frame with a desperate, voracious need.

Raymond moaned softly as her lips surrounded the very tip of his penis, the thick rod tasting of that warm elixir she so craved.

Her cheeks hollowed, sucking languidly up and down, steadily taking him deeper and deeper.

She heard Red gasp when her tongue swirled along the underside of his shaft. The writhing muscle purposefully teased that sweet spot, making him throw his head back amongst the pillows.

Rosalie released him with a soft pop, giggling at the sight of her lover, lips parted, eyes half-lidded, and lungs heaving as her hand resumed its stroking of his now wet, throbbing cock.

"Christ, I love what your sweet little mouth does to me." He hissed, arching into her grasp with a throaty moan of approval.

The woman flashed a devilish grin, running her tongue along a bulging vein in response.

Raymond sighed luxuriously, relaxing into her delectable ministrations. His legs spread to better accommodate the feminine silhouette nestled there, encouraging any and all fantasies which might tickle her fancy.

Rosalie took the incentive, settling in, latching her scorching mouth around him and taking the turgid member as deep as she could go.

Red let out a desperate snarl of pleasure when his aching head met the very back of her throat.

The smooth slickness of Rosalie's tongue swirled insistently over his entire length while her throat instinctively swallowed against the very tip of his cock.

"Fuck…yes…take it nice and- _oh_," a bone-rattling moan leapt from his throat as the very tip of her pert nose nuzzled the soft curls at his base, every last inch of his shaft lovingly cradled in her mouth,"_deep_."

Rosalie held that depth until she absolutely had to breathe, until the man beneath her was fisting the sheets in agonized rapture. She then proceeded to slide him from her lips at a torturous pace, her tongue flicking, teeth nibbling, and throat humming all the while.

The woman took a full, gasping breath once her mouth was unoccupied, supplying her lungs with much-needed oxygen.

Raymond immediately grasped Rosalie's upper arms and pulled her into his lap, robbing her of breath once more as he plundered her mouth with his wicked tongue.

The sudden movement from her pastime brought Rosalie flush with the thick appendage between Red's legs. She arched, guiding the fat crown back and forth along her sex, allowing him to feel the slick excitement pooling there, waiting for him.

The sensation made Red growl against her lips, the teasing simply too much to bear.

He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, unwilling to wait a moment longer. Sheathing his erection with practiced ease, he positioned himself at the entrance to that soaked and quivering space. "I need you."

"I'm yours, darling,"

Her scorching heat slowly relented to the intrusion, taking him inch by glorious inch.

By the time Red was fully seated inside her, the two were panting with the exertion, the need to move against each other quickly becoming a biological imperative.

Rosalie whimpered her delight, rocking her hips against him and driving his rock hard shaft deeper. "My pussy feels so _full_,"

Raymond groaned as he felt the tight hold ripple around him, working frantically to accommodate his girth. The sound of that word from her lips was nearly his undoing. "Is that what you like, my little dove? Being filled to the brim?"

Rosalie mewled in response, her head tilting back and mouth falling open in a shuddering gasp as frissons of pleasure sizzled along her every nerve ending.

Red smiled to himself, tracing the delicate length of her throat with his lips and the tip of his nose. His tongue doled teasing flicks along the silky soft skin, taking in the tastes and scents which so often drove him wild.

Without warning, he flipped them, pressing Rosalie into the mattress below, not once leaving the cradle of her thighs.

She squeaked her surprise before letting out a contented mew, pleased to be surrounded by his imposing frame. Her fingers entwined intimately with his as she writhed under him, settling further into his hold.

Raymond cuddled her close and sank into the waiting warmth of her pussy, retreating only to bury himself again, deeper than before.

Rosalie canted her hips to meet his thrusts, a husky whine cascading from her lips. "Yes, _yes_, God…_Raymond_."

They lost themselves in the erotic push and pull, the litany of whispered, shivered praises and endearments meant for the other's ears alone.

An hour later found Red laying sprawled on his back with one hand tucked leisurely behind his head. The other hand palmed the curve of Rosalie's hip, guiding her smoothly up and down his rigid shaft.

The pair moved in a deliberate, almost tantric manner, rocking slowly into each thrust.

Red's eyes were glued to his lover, watching as passion and pleasure enveloped her with every second spent atop his aching member. She was radiant, glowing from the tips of her toes to the top of her golden head, the blazing sunrise filtering in from the bedroom windows haloing her naked body beautifully.

He gazed transfixed at the view of his sun-drenched little nymph riding him to her heart's content. The sight of her wildly chasing their pleasure filled him to the brim with overwhelming affection and desire. Unable to hold back any longer, he reached to cradle one of her pert breasts, reveling in its full, heavy softness while he thumbed its nipple to rigidity.

Rosalie whimpered and arched into his touch, her own warm little hands caressing his arms and torso lovingly.

They had made love in the early morning hours many times before, but something existed between them in this coupling which hadn't been there the day prior.

They ought to be irritable, they ought to feel badly for the sins they committed that night and for the loss of one of their own. Yet all that could be felt in those quiet hours between dusk and dawn was an unwavering deluge of contentment, wholeness, and mind-bending euphoria.

Rosalie smiled when a snarl of pleasure tugged at Red's lips. The man's brow furrowed as he arched into her, seeking more. The sight made her whole body twitch excitedly, wanting to drive him out of his mind, to make him shatter, just for her.

Her hips undulated in a smooth, steady rhythm, riding the rigid length for all she was worth. She could feel the tight coil inside her buckle with tension, the precarious edge made her burrow into Red's embrace, seeking stability as her body approached its peak.

"_Please_..."

Raymond felt the beginnings of her unraveling, drawing her deeper into his hold and impaling her on his shaft with a sharp snap of his hips.

"_With me_." He commanded, feeling the familiar tingling at the base of his spine, his balls lifting toward his body, begging for their release.

Rosalie gave a feverish nod, her breath mingling with his as ecstasy slowly pressed in on them both.

Red pulled her pelvis flush with his, increasing the pace at which he plundered her willing body, each thrust driving them closer and closer to the edge.

Their whispered pleas filled the room, each lover begging the other for relief from the delightful agony the two had created.

With a vicious pang, Rosalie relented to Raymond's coaxing. The velvet heat of her pussy clenched around his heavy cock, gripping the appendage in endless waves as he continued to thrust tirelessly within her.

Red felt the warm wetness of her release bathe his shaft, easing the way to his own orgasm as the slick tunnel came helplessly around him. The thick head of his cock pulsed erratically, filling the condom while he kept pounding into the quivering hole, drawing forth more and more of that creamy arousal, coating her thighs and his pelvis as he fucked her ragged.

Rosalie howled his name into the crook of his neck, her entire frame buckling and spasming with pleasure.

Raymond sucked and nipped at her shoulder as he emptied the last of himself in her sodden depths, working to keep his thunderous growls of completion from waking up the entire house.

Their harried thrusts finally calmed to a slow, gentle rocking, easing the last tremors of their orgasm into oblivion.

The couple lay panting in each other's arms for several minutes. Two pairs of warm hands calmed and soothed, two pairs of eyes trailed languidly, thoughtfully along soft skin shimmering in golden morning light, and two pairs of lips murmured endlessly, kissing and whispering their adoration in the quiet stillness of dawn.

Once Rosalie got her bearings, she rose daintily from her lover's lap.

They both hissed as his shaft slid free of her body's hold, the action overstimulating both parties' sensitive, sated flesh.

Rosalie looked down to see their combined arousal glistening at the base of Raymond's cock. The sight was comforting and titillating all at once, making her smile warmly at him before standing up on shaky legs. "I'll get us a towel," she murmured gently, leaning in to kiss his lips once more.

Raymond nodded, nestling further into the bed with a satisfied hum. His eyes watched the swish of her backside as she padded across the room, admittedly a little knock-kneed. Red grinned his enjoyment at the lovely scene.

The same sticky evidence of their passion could be felt and no doubt seen between Rosalie's thighs as she walked toward the master bath, the knowledge bringing another broad smile to her lips. Red had brought forth a veritable river of her pleasure, and the young woman couldn't help but replay their coupling in her mind as she waited for the water from the sink to heat up.

She stepped back into the bedroom moments later, carrying a warm, damp cloth.

Raymond had gotten up and shut the curtains while she was in the bath, leaving them in blissful darkness. He smiled dozily at her as she climbed into bed, kneeled at his side and tenderly cleansed the soft down between his legs with gentle passes of the washcloth.

He watched the proceedings with a self-satisfied smile, making Rosalie laugh.

"Someone's smug." Her voice was playful and brimming with amusement as she continued her task, carefully removing the slick evidence of her ecstasy from his person.

Raymond flashed that inimitable roguish grin, grunting as the cloth brushed his sack, gently rolling and cupping the heavy bundle. His sultry chuckle rippled along her skin while a broad hand reached to trail the length of her spine, smoothing down the satin skin to cup and pinch her taut little backside in reprimand. "I am but a man, Rosalie, and garnering a response like this…" he traced two fingers along the slick expanse of her inner thigh, "…is ample reason to be smug."

Rosalie laughed and batted his wandering hand away as it began to inch north. "Touché, you conceited scoundrel." She couldn't help a little good-natured teasing, moving on to lovingly cleanse his waning member.

"It's how I measure whether I'm worth my salt nowadays," he intimated, preening under her intent gaze and bucking when she gripped his shaft, freeing him from the spent condom. "Regularly bringing a beautiful woman to the point where she can't help but shatter, kissing my cock with that lovely gift of warm, wet euphoria...If that doesn't put a smile on my face then I need to reevaluate my life choices."

Rosalie felt her whole body burn with a vibrant blush for his blunt retort.

Red sniggered knowingly, watching the pink hue encase her from head to toe. Without a word, he sat up and gently pressed Rosalie to lay amongst the sheets, easing the washcloth from her grasp and wedging himself between her knees.

The woman sighed as he made several gentle passes with the cloth, washing away the evidence of his ability to make her come undone.

He moved up toward the apex of her thighs, brushing gently over the healthy pink lips of her sex, the tiny pearl of her clit peeking from within the heavenly soft folds. He circled the little bud once with his thumb, making his lover lurch, her overstimulated nerve endings too sensitive to tease just yet.

Her hands attempted to bat his away, earning a very amused chuckle as her counterpart flung the washcloth, managing to hit the laundry bin in the master closet before burrowing into his lover's arms.

Red was thoroughly exhausted after their late night shenanigans. Thankfully, they would both sleep easily after such an eventful night.

Rosalie had to be up in a few short hours, but she couldn't bring herself to care as she gathered her lover into her arms. One hand swirled slender fingertips through his short hair, the other caressed the warm expanse of his back as his breathing slowed to a gentle, drowsy rhythm.

Raymond held her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck as was his custom before letting out a contented sigh.

A thought came to Rosalie as they lay there in the quiet.

"Raymond?"

"Hmm?"

"…How did Kate find out about us having sex on the boat if the office was supposed to be soundproof?"

A telling silence hung in the air before the man's deep voice rumbled against her ear. "I may have embellished its sound containing abilities."

"Raymond!" The woman attempted to nudge him from her person, uncomfortable that Kate had heard them in the middle of such an intimate activity.

"In my defense I was very, very invested in the task at hand." He purred, keeping her wriggling form pinned beneath him.

Rosalie shook with amusement despite her chastising. "What, getting into my skirt?"

Red brushed his nose along the her collar bone, sensually scenting the warm hollow. "I think we can both agree I was already thoroughly settled beneath that thin layer of gossamer, my dear. I was merely ensuring I got the soundtrack I liked."

The woman shivered when she felt his lips meet her pulse point. "Soundtrack?"

His hips rolled forward, rocking his pelvis suggestively against the alcove he had left only a short while ago. "I've told you time and again how much I enjoy all those sweet little noises you make when we make love."

Rosalie mewed her renewing arousal, guiding the man's hands back toward her breasts.

Red chuckled, cradling the full mounds but forcing himself not to tease and fondle. "We need to sleep." He husked, at the same time pressing his hardening shaft against the warm curves moulding intimately to him.

"You started it," Rosalie accused, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

A deep moan vibrated against from his lips to hers as Raymond felt her legs spread in open invitation, her body surrendering to his every whim.

The action was a siren's call no man alive would be foolish enough to resist.

The Concierge of Crime woke two entirely too short hours later to a soft knock on the door and a slim strip of bright light making its way in to the dark room.

"Raymond, you're meeting with John and Harris in Brooklyn in an hour."

The older man grunted in acknowledgement, waving a hand in the voice's general direction before burrowing his face back into his lover's neck.

Dembe smirked and closed the door, making his way back down the home's main hall.

Ted stepped out of his room, wide awake and ready to go.

"You're up early." Dembe noted, peering curiously at him.

The Brit halted, running a large hand through his rumpled hair, his brow furrowing. "Ah, bollocks…You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

Ted jerked his head toward the stairs and the two men descended to the first floor. "Horace up and left last night. Out of bloody nowhere, a week before she's set to take charge of the properties at the Mandarin, and he decides to resign."

"How do you know this?" Asked Dembe, continuing their trek to the kitchen.

Ted grimaced, "I sort of walked in on him saying goodbye. I'd just come back from dropping Brimley and the rest of them at the 78th street safehouse. I went down to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat and came up right as he was walking out the front door."

Dembe found this most unusual. "I knew there had been tension between Rosalie and her guard since Norway, but I didn't think it had gone this far. Have you noticed anything strange with Horace?"

Ted shook his head, the soft brown curls moving with the action. "Nah, he's been the same grumpy bugger he's always been. He wasn't happy with Ray, we all knew that, but he hadn't changed in the slightest. He still did his job, kept the same hours, he'd go out for a drink, chase a few skirts at night, came back home and did it all over again the next day."

The pair set about making their respective breakfasts, both silently brooding over the unexpected turn of events.

"Do you think he's gone for good?" Dembe wondered aloud, neatly chopping a banana into a bowl of other assorted fruits.

Ted contemplated his porridge for a long moment, "Not really, no. I knew Horace a long time before we all came to work for Rosalie. Their friendship runs deep. I bet he needed a brief hiatus and a swift kick in the pants from Florian. Once he gets both, I expect he'll be back."

Dembe's eyes lifted from his fruit, "I take it you are upholding Horace's duties in the interim?"

The other man nodded somewhat nervously, "That's why I'm up so early. Want to do the job proper. Rosalie's going to need all the help she can get. I've already got a list from her of what needs doing today, should be alright."

Dembe smiled at Ted, "You will do the job well."

Teddy ran a hand sheepishly through his hair again, "I bloody well hope so, mate. Rosalie's nervous as all hell." He dropped a handful of cashews into his porridge, "For what it's worth, your boss was right there the second she needed him, good man that Raymond Reddington."

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day."

Red's deep drawl came from the stairs as he strode into the kitchen, fully clothed and in search of coffee.

He tipped his hat to Teddy with an impish though obviously tired smile, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ted. Though, I must give credit where credit is due, you handled the whole scenario beautifully. You were calm, reassuring, made my job easy."

Ted gave a humble nod in thanks before dipping into his porridge.

Dembe smirked, "Now that we've all commended each other on our handling of the lone female in the house...We need to look forward."

Raymond gave an agreeable nod, turning back to Ted "I'm sure you have a honey-do list from Rosalie? If there's any way you can handle those without her, it would be much appreciated. As you can imagine, she hardly slept last night."

Ted shared a conspiratorial grin with Dembe, picking up the note the pair had left on the kitchen counter the night before. "We noticed you two were out…burning the midnight oil so to speak. I'll leave her be until I've completed the list."

"Excellent." Red clapped him on the shoulder, pointedly ignoring his knowing smirk. "Once she's up and has a spare moment, have her give me a call. Dembe?"

The younger bodyguard set his now empty bowl in the kitchen sink and picked up the car keys before leading the way out of the house.

Ted took a steadying breath and grabbed his to-do list and a cup of tea before getting to work.

_Sunset Park Warehouse - Brooklyn, NY_

Raymond managed to catch a few more minutes of shut-eye in the car ride over to his warehouse.

Having been up quite late and ridden completely ragged by an insatiable blonde, the man was thoroughly and wonderfully spent.

As the sedan trundled through Little Italy, Red realized he couldn't even bring himself to be irritable that morning.

The lack of sleep had nothing on the deliciously sated ache which encompassed him from head to toe. Raymond felt stable and comfortable after his and Rosalie's night out. Any concerns he'd had over a wedge being driven between them due to Horace's departure or Howard's death were thoroughly soothed, and he had even secured Rosalie's consent for him to be her guide over the next few months.

Raymond Reddington had never been the kind of man to beg for the task of caring for someone. He didn't have the time or energy to expend on such things.

Even in Rosalie's case, he hadn't actually asked, he instead told her how much he needed her to relent to him on this, and rather than questioning or fighting him, Rosalie set aside any insecurities, considered the offer he made, and acquiesced.

Red wasn't certain of the fact, but he liked to think she felt a little relief knowing she had someone firmly at her back.

The world was a far more interesting and enjoyable place with Rosalie in it, and Raymond was determined to see her through the upcoming storms for a host of reasons both personal and business-related.

The fact of the matter was Red needed her network. After being on the run for eight years without such a network, he could say with absolute certainty, it was far easier and far safer for him to remain within its sanctuary. He was harbored, protected in Rosalie's care.

There was no doubt in the man's mind; a big player had been searching for him since that fateful night in Munich, yet said player had yet to lay a hand on him. Raymond was a ghost when within the walls of Rosalie's network, and it was imperative he remain there.

Allying himself with the innkeeper was a boon to his business in many ways; yet more than anything, Red found the positive effect their arrangement had on his humanity and well-being to be the greater benefit.

Rosalie had brought a wealth of virtues to his life in the year they had been on the run, and in the month they had been actively dating, she had managed to bring even more of herself to the fray.

Raymond needed her to succeed for selfish reasons too, he knew. The man was so accustomed to her presence these days, he couldn't fathom being on the run without her. The welcome touch of a gentle, understanding woman had changed the landscape of Red's life on the run, making it significantly more comfortable, significantly more happy.

He agreed with Dembe's earlier assessment, it was time to look forward. The near future meant the repair of his shipping operations in New York and the expansion of Rosalie's network, which would inherently expand Raymond's already considerable reach.

He simply needed to make sure Rosalie made it through to the other side of the expansion intact.

Dembe caught his eye in the rearview mirror as they waited in traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Something's bothering you." Raymond tilted his head knowingly, waiting for the young man to speak.

"I am worried about this business with Horace. He picked a dangerous time to abandon her."

Red nodded his understanding, "You are disapproving of his decision and what implications it holds for Rosalie."

"Aren't you?" Dembe's dark eyes glinted with a touch of malice he had kept carefully under control in Ted's company. "You of all people know the next few months could be the end or the beginning for Rosalie. Her world hinges on this upcoming exchange, and he left her to fend for herself."

Ray smirked softly to himself, "I am deeply displeased, Dembe," he confided, "I'm livid with the man, truth be told."

"I take it we will not be telling your companion of our mutual displeasure?"

"You are correct, it would only serve to upset her further."

Dembe nodded his agreement, "How did Rosalie take his departure?"

"She was devastated." Red's right eye twitched angrily as he recalled how his companion looked standing in the doorway of Horace's empty room, how he'd found her in tears on the roof hours later. "His departure made her question a great deal about herself. Which is why we snuck out last night. After Howard and the loss of her guard, she needed to feel like everything was going to be okay, like her world wasn't caving in on her from all sides."

"She felt guilty leading Howard to you." Dembe informed him, able to perfectly picture her face as she walked out of the dingy room at the Coroner's safehouse. "Horace, on the other hand, was utterly appalled by the whole ordeal."

"Yes, well, I'll try not to let myself be crushed under the weight of Horace's judgement." Raymond's voice was a low, gravelly rumble carrying a substantial bite. "Rosalie and I discussed the night at length, I'm comfortable with where we left things. Horace, however, I'm still sorting through. Did he say anything to you about the events following our retrieval of Howard?"

Dembe shook his head as they turned down the long brick road leading to the warehouse. "He didn't say a word. All I noticed about him was his expression in Mangano's car and again at the Triangle Social Club. He was terrified."

Red set his fedora back on his head with a shrug, "Well, this life isn't for everyone. That being said, he should have gotten out long before this, rather than wait until Rosalie was at a precarious turning point and bailing then."

"What are you going to do about this?" Dembe asked, being purposefully cryptic in his request. He put the vehicle in park outside the looming brick factory building beside them, his gaze firmly fixed on the rearview mirror.

Raymond considered the building for a long moment, "Horace didn't betray her, merely defected. I can't fault him for his departure, though I disagree with his method and timing. Hurting him would only hurt her. Florian will ensure Horace never divulges any of Rosalie's trade secrets, and Ted seems eager to take on a new challenge."

"And Rosalie?"

"Rosalie and I discussed the future at length last night. I informed her I planned on taking a more active role in the upcoming months and she agreed. You and I will take a bit of time to ensure our world doesn't eat her alive and us with her."

"That's why you told Ted not to wake her." Dembe realized with a knowing smile.

Red sing-songed his head back and forth, "Wars aren't won when the general's half asleep."

"Says the man going into a business meeting on less than two hours."

"How did you know how much sleep I got?" Raymond turned, appalled and yet amused as they exited the car.

Dembe lifted an impassive chin, not meeting his employer's impish gaze. "You two are very noisy."

Red burst into a roguish laugh, knowing full well he didn't have a leg to stand on with that particular retort.

_SoHo Safehouse -Later That Day_

It was late afternoon by the time Rosalie stumbled drowsily into the kitchen.

Ted was on the phone with the property manager for Tokyo, handling the arrangements for some of their upcoming movements.

"Sorry, I forgot to set my alarm last night. Next time just beat on the door. You shouldn't be handling this alone." She blabbed once he was finished, sitting across from him with a muffin and her folio.

"Not to worry, Raymond insisted I let you sleep since you were up so late. I had your honey-do's from last night, so I promised I'd get as far as I could on those before waking you."

A coy smile tugged at Rosalie's lips. "How far did you get?"

"The whole thing, just finished." Ted passed her the list of requests she had made the night before, the status of each written in detail below.

"Really?" Rosalie was pleasantly surprised as she rifled through his notes, "I- _Wow_, Ted." She gaped at the notepad for a while, the outcomes more than sufficient in her eyes.

"This is better than I ever could have expected for your first day in these shoes. I can't thank you enough."

Ted beamed with pride, "Like I said, anything you need, Rosalie, I'm your man." He did a finger guns motion before grimacing and taking on a slightly more serious expression, "Now, not to get ahead of myself, but I think it would be good for you and I to sit down and figure out what you're going to need most over the next couple months, and come up with a plan so I can help make things easier."

Rosalie's eyes were wide with pleasant surprise, "That sounds…_great_ Teddy."

"Cheers." Teddy smiled and passed her the burner phone, adding, "I'll make us a cuppa while you call Ray. I promised to have you give him a ring once you were up."

Rosalie took the phone without argument, watching in mild shock as her new right hand made his way over to the kitchen stove, putting the kettle on and setting out two pristine white teacups.

Shaking herself from her daze, she dialed the appropriate number and was waiting for the other party to answer when the men in question came sidling through the side door and into the kitchen.

Raymond eyed Rosalie heatedly, making her cheeks burn with a vibrant blush. "Hello there."

"Hey you," she greeted warmly, barely containing a contented moan when his fingers stroked through her wild hair.

"I take it you just woke up?" Red couldn't help the amused grin which overtook his features at the sight of her teeming mane of sex-tousled curls. It was obvious she hadn't yet showered, and the knowledge thoroughly enticed him.

Rosalie sensed this, mouthing a quick '_behave_' before turning to kiss the palms of his hands. "What did you find out from John and Harris?"

Dembe held out a stack of papers, which she took with a friendly smile.

"These are all the details we have regarding the drops Howard made, I hoped you and I could go through them."

She nodded her assent, rifling through the papers interestedly, "Of course, why don't I grab a quick shower then we can get together and hash it out?"

"Whenever you're free," Dembe assured with an amused grin, watching as she continued flipping through the papers, heading for the stairs.

Rosalie made it all the way up to the master suite and turned on the shower's spray before realizing Red had followed her upstairs.

Plucking the stack of documents from her hands, he tossed them on the bed before backing her slowly into the bath.

A feminine giggle could be heard as various articles of clothing were tossed from the room, leaving the pair delightfully nude and leisurely shuttering themselves inside the shower's glass enclosure.

Raymond and Rosalie came down from the master suite just as Kate was arriving with her bags. It seemed today was the day she would begin moving with them.

The group greeted their new companion and Ted promptly hoisted her bags up to the spare bedroom, leaving the woman with the remaining three.

Kate was just as curt as usual, stiffly stating she had business to attend to with Red, who wasted no time in sitting down to meet with her while Rosalie and Dembe continued on to the kitchen.

"I was sorry to hear about Horace's departure."

Rosalie turned to see Dembe peering thoughtfully down at her, his dark eyes insightful and comforting. She reached out and patted his hand affectionately, taking the other in her palm so she could check the bandages covering his knuckles.

"Horace and I differed philosophically on a great many things, but that's part of what made us so companionable." She confided, "I always kept him on his toes, made him think differently about the ways of criminals. He always dragged me out of my head, taught me to consider my heart and instincts as viable options in making decisions. Unfortunately, it was these differences which ultimately unraveled our working relationship."

"You miss your friend, and are unsure how you will fair without him." Dembe had an innate ability to see right through people, to understand what emotions were roiling within them at any given moment. It was times like this he was thankful for such a gift. His friend was hurting, and the young man knew a kind word and a patient ear was often all she required to feel confident once again.

Rosalie sighed, "I've become so accustomed to Horace always being there, I forgot what it was like to do this on my own. He made everything so easy. Whenever I was uncertain or confused, Horace was there, especially when it came to your boss." She grinned playfully up at her friend, "Horace is the one who made me realize I would have to learn to trust somebody eventually, and helped me accept the fact I found myself willing to trust Raymond with something so delicate as my network. All the way back in Munich, up to when we returned from Norway, when everything changed."

Dembe squeezed her shoulder solemnly, "He acted as your conscience, your sense of direction. Every criminal needs to have one, lest they lose themselves. You find you share a mind on many things, but there's always a divergence when it counts. For instance, my calling is to keep Raymond grounded in his humanity when the inner criminal seems to be taking over. Horace did something similar for you."

Rosalie gave him a soft, sad little smile, "Well Raymond's lucky to have you, sweetheart."

Dembe reached up and ruffled her damp curls, "I don't think we've truly seen the last of Horace. That being said, I think Ted Beaumont will surprise us all. He will make a good conscience."

"I have the utmost faith in Teddy." Rosalie agreed, turning to watch her new right-hand man as he diligently worked out a schedule for their upcoming movements.

Dembe, Rosalie, and Ted settled into the breakfast nook shortly after with the list of spent an hour cross-referencing the dates, times, and locations into a working timeline dating back to early May.

Once the timeline was in place they sat staring at the list, hoping some kind of reasoning would show.

"It's not logical, from a geographical standpoint." Ted stood to make a pot of tea and grab a snack.

Dembe tapped his fingertips along his scalp, "Howard said the packages were left days before a new deal was meant to go through. Perhaps we should compare the list of lost deals with the list of drops?"

"That's an excellent idea." Rosalie agreed, flipping through the stack and bringing out the list of deals made by this faction of Red's business over the past four months.

She and Dembe poured over the sheet as the kettle on the stove came to a boil.

Each deal was from a different supplier, contained different contraband for different purposed, and was meant for a different client. There was no relevant pattern for them to pursue within that information either.

While Ted prepared a pot of tea, Rosalie filtered through the drops for the umpteenth time, her brain insisting she knew something about these locations.

She was certain it was simply deja vu at this point, but the feeling continued until the woman relented, writing the drop locations on a separate notepad, noting the dates and times for each event in a chronological order.

The pattern suddenly struck a harrowing chord.

_Vancouver 5/12/99 08:15_

_Port of Spain 6/26/99 18:01_

_Siena 6/30/99 03:05_

_Athens 7/5/99 12:09_

_Hong Kong 7/15/99 05:04_

"Oh no." Rosalie whispered, pulling her folio from the cacophony of documents and scrabbling for the notepad with the listed dates, times, and locations for Howard's drops. She began hurriedly transcribing information from the calendar contained in her folio, becoming more and more frantic with each letter.

"What's got you in a twist?" Asked Teddy, setting down three piping hot cups of tea.

Rosalie didn't answer, merely continuing to mutter to herself and splashing the page of the notepad in stark black ink.

"No, no, _no_!" She hissed, drawing lines from one side of the paper to the other, connecting drop dates on the left to the information she had hastily scribbled on the right.

"Oh, bollocks," Ted swore, moving to get Reddington.

Dembe picked up the notepad and peered concernedly down at the information scrawled there.

The new column on the right held a list of their own movements for the past four months, each drop site corresponding with the date and time of one of their stays.

Rosalie dropped her pen and looked up to meet Dembe's worried gaze.

"We're being followed_._"

The group convened in the safehouse's office, closing the door despite there not being another soul in the house.

Considering the extent of their find, Raymond remained quite calm as Rosalie explained their discovery, gesturing pointedly at the lists of dates and times. "These locations, they don't look familiar to you?"

"Not off the cuff," he insisted, "Which is why I wanted you to take a closer look."

Rosalie perched herself on the edge of the desk, pointing to the column on the right hand side. "Raymond, these are all cities we've been to in the past four months."

Red perused the list again for a few minutes. "These are hotspots within the underground, the fact of the matter is most high profile criminals have been flitting in and around these locations in the past four months. What else did you-?"

He watched as she traced one of the lines from right to left, showing the date and time stamps for the drops compared to their movements. "Every single drop was made the day after we arrived in each locale. Sometimes mere hours after we landed."

Raymond chewed the inside of his cheek, his gut roiling as the truth of this discovery settled in. "We're being followed."

"Who outside of this room is aware of your day to day movements?" Kate asked, quickly taking the conversation to the heart of the issue.

"Right now? The whole of my operation knows I'm in New York." Red bit back a tad moodily.

"On a normal day?" Kate continued unfazed, holding his glower with her usual stoic stare.

"A handful of my top associates, Stratos, you, the accountants." He turned to Dembe and Rosalie, "Does anyone in your acquaintance know our movements?"

Dembe shook his head, but Rosalie nodded sheepishly.

"Florian."

"Florian Armel wouldn't have knowledge of any deals Raymond was making," Kate pointed out, "…unless you told him?" The older woman was careful to keep the hint of accusation from her voice.

"I don't even know the extent of the deals Raymond makes unless I'm directly involved with them, and even then, I wouldn't share such information with Florian, it's none of his business." Rosalie was rather offended by the subtle accusation.

"Regardless, I'm usually with her when she makes that call." Red intoned, lifting a brow in Kate's direction, "I would have overheard and remembered her discussing any details of my operation."

Kate backed down immediately. "Then it must be one of your other acquaintances. That, or you've been tapped, nothing else would explain how the person doing the drop would know where you were and what acquisitions you were pursuing."

"Indeed. We will need to be more cautious in the future in regard to whom we confide our location."

"For what it's worth, I wouldn't tell anyone." Rosalie stated her opinion, "There's no good reason for anyone outside of this room to be aware of your day to day movements."

"I agree with your counterpart." Nodded Kate, in a rare show of approval.

Dembe turned a questioning glance toward Rosalie, "What about Florian?"

Rosalie shrugged, "I have contingency plans in place if I actually disappear or get into a tight spot. Florian will be annoyed at not knowing my location, but he will understand our reasoning."

"Well," Raymond cast his gaze upon his little innkeeper, "My dear, what would be your recommendation for us moving forward?"

His companion paced the room for a moment, "I would advise any of my clients to lay low for at least a month. I recommend we operate within the blacksite portion of my network for that duration. One month, maybe two. I know you prefer to handle business in person, but I will insist most dealings be completed over the phone. We can make in-person work if it's absolutely necessary, but precautions will need to be taken for your transport to and from any meetings, so you aren't followed. The blacksite period will dry up the trail for anyone following us, and we can move forward from there."

Rosalie took the armchair across from him, crossing her legs and threading her fingers together. "The blacksite period will also give me the time to have the safehouses swept for wire taps and bugs of any kind."

"That's hardly necessary-" Raymond began, but Rosalie held up a hand.

"I won't have you feeling as though you can't speak freely while living in my network." Her expression indicated she was not to be trifled with on the matter. "Can the remainder of repairs to your New York operations be handled from a distance?"

Red considered the notion, "The majority of operations are back to the status quo, John and Harris can be trusted with the final preparations."

"And the Bukowski's?"

"Harris is going to keep an eye on them for the next six months, make sure they buy the ruse and don't start turning over rocks."

"What about the Genovese's, Benny Mangano, we're certain they're not going to come looking for a favor after lending their assistance to us?"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll hear from them at some point. They owed me a favor but this was a pretty big hand they lent. They will want something in return, forged documents or some kind of money laundering, most likely. Nothing we can't handle."

Kate's head swiveled back and forth between the two fugitives, taking in the rapid fire communications between them.

Ted and Dembe sat quietly across the room, relaxedly watching the proceedings as though it were commonplace.

Raymond and Rosalie were like a well oiled machine, enquiring and answering each other in quick succession, powering through complex logistics like their upcoming movements, the potential implications of them being essentially off-grid for a month, and most importantly, what they would do about Howard's accomplices at large.

"The German is likely the one responsible for the flea on our backs, whom I would hazard to guess is the mystery man from the burner phone, since he was the one giving Howard our locations. How can we get to them?" Rosalie questioned, picking up and glancing at the list of dates and drops once again.

"I've already got associates scouring the underground for anyone who answers to the moniker 'The German.' It's quite generic, so it will take some time to get a solid lead. I'm afraid there's not enough information to go off of on the second accomplice, but if we can get our hands on the German, he can certainly lead us to the other."

Rosalie pondered their predicament for several long moments, "We can pursue them from the shadows, but we will need to be very careful."

Raymond agreed, "We've already been in New York too long, how soon can you have a place ready for us?"

The woman straightened her spine, sharing a quick, wordless glance with Ted. "Call Edward. Ten minutes, and I can have a blacksite at our disposal."

_One month later..._

_Blacksite #17 a.k.a 'Kimbilio' - Undisclosed Location, Kenya - September 21st, 1999_

The next four weeks were a whirlwind. After discovering they were being followed, Rosalie had blacksite #3 in Big Sur prepared for their arrival, and the group was in the air within the hour.

They spent four days sequestered in the airy cliffside home Rosalie affectionately dubbed 'The Condor', concealed amongst an outcropping of metamorphic rock on the California coast. The quiet sanctum of the open-air blacksite allowed their little band a moment to catch their breath and outline a plan that would take them through the end of the year.

Operations would continue as usual for Raymond and Rosalie's respective businesses, with meetings and dealings being handled as hands-off as possible, at the same time, the majority of their efforts would be focused on taking out the most immediate threat to themselves, The German and his accomplice.

Kate was heading up the search for the two adversaries, with the remainder of their party providing assistance as necessary. It was a learning curve for them all, having a new fifth person moving with them. Kate was rather reserved in comparison to the friendly foursome who were quite accustomed to each other at this point.

Kaplan was a bit of a recluse, while the two fugitives and their bodyguards were most often found all in the same room, unless said fugitives had wandered off to have some time alone. Even then, Ted and Dembe could be seen sharing a pot of tea and discussing the day's events rather than going their separate ways.

Rosalie and Kate weren't hostile, but they were turning out not to be bosom friends, either. Both were cautious, careful not to have an open altercation with each other, though it seemed there was a tension between the two which would be quite difficult to resolve. Kate did not speak directly to Rosalie unless absolutely necessary, and try as Rosalie might, the other woman did not warm to her.

As a matter of fact, it seemed the harder Rosalie tried to be friendly to Kate, the more Kaplan disliked her.

When Rosalie pointed this out to her companion, Red reminded her Kate took a while to warm to anyone. He insisted his cleaner still barely tolerated _him_, though Rosalie had more than once overheard Kate call the man '_Dearie_'.

Raymond assured her Kate's stiffness would eventually wane in the coming months, and in the meantime, she needed to concern herself only with her network.

Rosalie had ultimately decided not to hire another bodyguard. Though she would not admit it to anyone, she was holding out hope that Horace would eventually return. Until then, she felt Teddy more than sufficed.

One month from their stay in Big Sur found the group settled in a blacksite just west of Nairobi. It was now just over two months since Raymond and Rosalie put pen to paper on her deal with the Mandarin's board of directors, and four weeks since the properties ceded to her control. Utter bedlam ensued once the hotel's competitors inexplicably found out, the respective boards of the Peninsula and the Four Seasons clamoring to get in on the same deal, the former going so far as to jet their entire board to meet with Rosalie in Maracaibo.

Word had also gotten out that Raymond had been the one to broker the deal, and as such, he had been sought by the Mandarin's competitors to do the same. The man was happy to oblige, keeping his earlier promise to Rosalie and making it a complete surprise each time he walked through the door. They repeated their long nights of negotiating tactics in bed, all the while Raymond would insist he hadn't been called to negotiate on the other party's behalf.

The woman was positively incandescent each time she encountered her not-so-unbiased broker on the other side of the table.

Rosalie negotiated the Peninsula perched on Red's lap in the office of blacksite #12, a slender Tokyo home she referred to as '_The Sliver_', and managed the Four Seasons pinned beneath him on the sprawling dining room table of blacksite #6, '_La Mara_' in Maracaibo.

Rosalie was hiring staff at a breakneck speed, relying on seasoned property managers to vet the incoming bellhops, maids, valets, and new property managers. She did the thing properly, offering the spots to her veterans and loyal associates looking to move a step upward before opening the gates to newcomers.

The woman was delighted when one of the young maids from Bulgaria requested to be trained as a property manager for the new location in Bodrum, Turkey. Rosalie was happy to oblige, paying for the young woman to study under her property manager in Athens for a brief stint before taking on the new hotel.

She gave her people every opportunity to benefit from the new circumstances, and most importantly, utilized the sudden windfall to further cultivate their loyalty. Her employees received raises, a more comprehensive healthcare plan, and access to fringe benefits such as childcare and continuing education.

When asked why, she merely replied, "I'm relying on them to keep my business running. I literally cannot do it without them. Their work, and most importantly, their confidentiality, are worth every penny I spend. It's simply good business."

Rosalie kept the promise she made to Raymond as well. The more stressed she became, the more she sought him. She requested his guidance and assistance when the demands of her network became unmanageable, and the man stepped up in spades. From extra hands to simply another set of eyes regarding a complex issue, he was unshakably present and endlessly reassuring, making the whole expansion flow smoothly, despite the several stumbling blocks which attempted to get in Rosalie's way.

Red was pleased with this turn of events, and how is companion was handling it all. The intellectual within Rosalie was learning and adapting to her new circumstances at a breathtaking speed. He knew if she could hold out just until the properties with the Peninsula and the Four Seasons came to fruition, they would all be in the clear. However, in the meantime, he was having a jolly time tending to his own business and building a relationship with his wily little fugitive.

Raymond had learned a great deal about Rosalie in the past month.

Most enjoyably, he learned she was the kind of woman whose stress manifested itself in a roaring libido, and she learned he was all too happy to serve.

As her world became more precarious, no amount of closeness became enough. She needed Red near, relished in touching him, whether in the throes of passion or with something as simple as resting her head on his shoulder. She found comfort in his touch and Raymond found himself craving the contact as well. In a matter of hours he swore his skin would start to crawl for need of her presence.

This was not to say they did not have their share of difficulties, though.

Rosalie had learned that Raymond's irreverent sense of humor extended to every possible scenario. Even when she was attempting to have a serious discussion with him about something important, he was often chock full of racy quips and long-winded stories which rarely offered the necessary insight to the task at hand. Rosalie understood that part of him better than anyone, and truthfully adored that about her lover.

However, it was not particularly helpful when she wanted to get a straight answer out of the man.

They had squabbled about that, coming out the other side no worse for wear.

Red learned that Rosalie loathed being interrupted whilst on the phone. He found this very amusing and could often be seen badgering her around the house until she grabbed a nearby throw pillow and clobbered him with it.

Raymond also learned she would become quite irritable when he stuck his thumb too far into one of her pies. They'd had a small argument about the issue just the other day, in which Rosalie informed him that despite their businesses being thoroughly entwined, and despite the fact she had consented to his assistance, those things did not provide him carte blanche to stick his nose into each and every one of her dealings.

The man thoroughly disagreed, refusing to back down from his meddling, knowing she wouldn't have pressed the issue he unearthed until it became a much larger problem.

They had bickered about that one for hours, eventually settling their disagreement between the sheets, both admitting they could have handled the altercation more diplomatically.

They arrived to the spectacular new blacksite in Kenya earlier that afternoon in good spirits despite the many changes which had been occurring in their world.

The compound, called '_Kimbilio_', was nestled high amongst the twisting branches of a veritable forest of Maasai Mara trees.

The exterior of the compound was made of stiff, pale canvas, arching into the air in sharp peaks pointing just above the tree line. The home was built upon a series of sprawling wooden platforms, one bearing the main living space, while the four flanking it held the bedrooms and their adjoining bathrooms.

The decor and layout reminded one very much of the old safari expeditions. The furniture was mostly campaign style, the glinting brass of its protected corners and recessed handles shining warmly in the light.

There was a mixture of plush Belgian and Oriental rugs covering the thick hardwood floors, a well-loved leather chesterfield in the living area, and a magnificent mahogany campaign desk in the small office behind the master bedroom.

Raymond and Rosalie's room, like the guest rooms, had was warm and sumptuous, brimming with antique charm, from the Wellington chest by the bedroom door to the ebony wood camelback trunk nestled at the foot of their bed. The bed itself was made with its usual crisp white Belgian linen sheets, standing out starkly against the deep mahogany canopy bed. Diaphanous white curtains hung along each of the bed's four corners, creating a delightful cocoon around its occupants when closed.

As midnight unfurled over the Kenyan wilderness, the bed's sole occupant stirred in the moonlight.

Raymond was shuffling back from the en-suite with a yawn when he heard it.

A small huff caught his attention from the confines of the bed's sheer curtains.

Rosalie was curled up in his shirt with a pillow clutched tightly to her. She nuzzled into the plush item, brows knit tightly together as another soft sigh escaped her throat.

He watched her for a moment, wondering what she must be dreaming to elicit such an action. She was usually curled on her side, some part of her touching him, but rarely was she balled up so tightly.

_A young woman sat at the dimly lit kitchen table of her childhood home. _

_The gnarled, knotted wood of the item's surface had long lost its shine, but still had space for a bottle of wine, a flimsy glass, and the sea of important documents perched atop the table's face. _

_Several bold letters bellowed up at her, 'Death Certificate', 'Autopsy Report', 'Last Will & Testament'... _

_The home was eerily quiet, each breath she took seemed to disturb the molecules in the air which hung like a heavy pall over the whole house. The young woman at the table sighed and poured the last of the wine into the glass before her. Her head fell into her palm, her lips releasing another anxious, exhausted sigh._

_"Is it that bad, darlin'?"_

_"No, Mama." She immediately lied, looking up to see her mother leaning against the doorway. _

_Her stature was much smaller than the young woman had remembered. _

_Had it really been so long since she left for college? As she sat there in a pair of faded jeans and old Stanford crewneck, a far cry from her usual suits, she felt like it had been only moments ago._

_The older woman's strawberry blonde had begun giving way to soft white in the intervening years. Mama looked her age all of a sudden, fragile and worried in the glow of the kitchen's low lights. _

_The whole home was showing its age. The cherrywood island in the kitchen needed resurfacing, so did the old blue cabinets. The floors needed refinishing and the young woman would bet her bottom dollar a new roof would be next on the to-do list. _

_All this, unfortunately, didn't even scratch the surface of the responsibilities involved with the home. _

_There was an entire business lingering behind the house which needed tending, too. There was so much to repair, to maintain, and the wolves were already prowling at the door. The woman wasn't sure how she could possibly manage all of this. Her mother was in no state to run the business and they were going under at a rapid pace. As much as it pained her to even think it, they were going to have to sell the house and everything in it to have a prayer of sustaining her parent for longer than five years._

_She turned to look up at her mother, hitching a reassuring smile onto her face. "It's just a lot to work through, that's all."_

_Mama slowly crossed the room, placing a warm, weathered hand on her daughter's shoulder, "It'll still be there in the mornin' honey; don't stay up too late."_

_"I won't," she promised, leaning forward as her mother placed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight, Mama."_

_"G'night, Baby."_

_The young woman watched the slight frame shuffle out into the foyer and slowly ascend the stairs. She turned immediately back to her task, scowling at the tabletop for another hour._

_She was looking for anything in the available documents which might provide any kind of financial stability for her mother, and finding nothing helpful, she finally let out a disgruntled growl and headed upstairs._

_It was when she passed the master bedroom that everything came crashing down around her once more._

_There on the bed lay a petite frame beneath soft hand-stitched quilts, with the same vintage rollers she always wore to bed in her hair._

_The girl could barely handle the sight of her mother, resolutely sleeping on the right side of the bed._

_Always the right side. _

_Always waiting. _

_Always leaving space for the man who would never come home. _

_The man who hadn't come home in over a year._

_The young woman's father had fallen ill unexpectedly, a long weary battle ensued for several months before ending last June with a coffin and her world permanently dismantled. Mama hadn't recovered from the shock. The paychecks stopped coming in, and the medical bills started, the home and land fell quickly into disarray._

_It wasn't until she received a call from an old friend, informing her the mortgage on her childhood home was coming up for foreclosure, that the woman realized something was seriously wrong._

_She booked the next flight out of California and arrived to this, her mother a shell of who she once was, a crumbling home, and a mountain of paperwork she knew could be the financial ruin of them both._

_Turning around, the young woman made her way along the hallway, avoiding the squeaky floorboard and the rickety table, down the stairs and back into her seat in the kitchen, hoping against hope she could find answers in the documents littered there._

_Her phone rang a few moments later, and she quickly took the call as to not wake up the house's other occupant._

_"Please tell me you've seen something I've missed." Her voice was a barely audible whisper, her voice not daring to hope and yet desperately pleading for something, anything to delay the inevitable. _

_The woman's best friend stood in a light-filled condo overlooking Los Angeles, the phone cradled against her ear. She was in a deep red silk button down and black suit pants, a pair of killer heels scattered unceremoniously beside the sofa in her office, where duplicates of the documents the young woman sat reviewing lay in neat stacks, an identical bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table._

_"Babe, I can't find a damn thing to keep you from having to sell. I've looked at it from every angle and it's your only option. My advice would be to see if you can't find a buyer outside of the county you're in, seeing as the other land owners are going to try and lowball or blackball any sale you try to make."_

_The young woman pinched the bridge of her nose, "Anyone outside the county won't bite, the place is too far out of the way, too difficult to access."_

_The woman's friend perched herself in the center of the couch, crossing her legs and laying her head in her upturned palm. She considered her friend's family her own, had loved the girl's parents dearly. She still did, and it killed her not to be able to do something to help them after all they'd done for her._

_"It's okay, Lu. I know you did everything you could."_

_"I'm so sorry, Georgie."_

Rosalie shot up in bed, covered head to toe in a cold, cold sweat.


	25. Solid Ground

_Blacksite #17 - a.k.a 'Kimbilio' - Undisclosed Location, Kenya - September 21, 1999 _

Raymond flinched when Rosalie shot up in bed gasping in heaving lungfuls and very much awake.

She bolted for the ensuite, retching into the porcelain bowl therein. Her small frame shook with the movement, the unpleasant sensation and the cold tile floor making her shudder.

He was at her side in a second, holding back her blonde locks with one hand and rubbing her back with the other. Red felt the pulse beneath his fingertips calm little by little, her heart no longer pounding like a freight train within her chest. A cold sweat could be felt beneath the shirt she was wearing, worrying the man further.

The nightmares had started earlier that week as the stress of juggling the new properties reached its peak with the addition of nine new penthouses from the Peninsula hotels, adding completely new locales like Manila and Bangkok to Rosalie's portfolio.

Though she hadn't yet confided the nature of these nocturnal disturbances, Raymond had woken the past few days to Rosalie shaking like a leaf and trying desperately to burrow into his arms.

This scenario, however, was new. She had never woken this rattled before.

Rosalie stood shakily, nodding her thanks before padding over to the sink to wash her hands and brush her teeth.

Raymond gave her a moment's privacy, stepping out into the main living space and returning with a glass of water and a warm compress.

Rosalie shuffled in from the bath, her cheeks flushed crimson and Red's shirt clutched tightly about her.

"You couldn't help it, little dove." He pulled back the sheets and held the water out to her with a reassuring nod.

Rosalie grimaced, climbing into bed and taking a sip from the offered glass with a mumbled, thank you. She placed the glassine her nightstand and drew her knees up to her chest, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt as she took a handful of deep, steadying breaths.

Raymond's gaze did not leave her still trembling frame. He was careful not to pry, but he desperately wished she would trust him enough to reveal what was haunting her in the night.

"Talk to me."

The deep rumble of his drowsy voice flitted through Rosalie's thoughts, pleading with her to confide in him. She looked up from her fidgeting fingers, her eyes still watery from the memories which had invaded her peaceful unconscious mind.

Her lover's brows were quirked upward, his eyes imploring. Her gut reminded her she had promised, promised not to keep herself from him, promised she would trust him to shoulder what she couldn't carry herself.

She promised.

Rosalie confided as much of the truth as she could muster in a tentative, weary voice. "I haven't lost this much sleep since I first became a criminal…"

Red nodded, knowing first hand his companion had hardly slept in the past three weeks. The new additions to her network required a great deal of time and effort to get off the ground in a short period of time. Rosalie was hiring dozens of new employees per week, which exposed her to a myriad of risks, not the least of which was the safety and security of her homes and clientele.

Her usual vetting process typically took weeks of checking backgrounds and connections, then vetting references, followed by a trial period to ensure proper fit. The whole process had been streamlined and delighted to her property managers, with Rosalie's role reduced to giving the final approval for basic hires and continuing to choose and vet any new property managers.

Rosalie trusted the property managers already in her employee, having chosen and vetted each of them herself, however, she was quickly discovering she absolutely loathed relenting so much control.

"Those early years were…" she buried her face in her hands, pressing herself to confide in the man waiting so patiently for her to string a sentence together. "God, Raymond, they were terrifyingly dark. Every day felt like I was just waiting to go broke, get arrested, or be attacked by a client. I didn't have a clue what the hell I was doing or who I could trust. I just remember being so angry, so scared-"

"You dreamt of the beginning." Raymond breathed, his features showing no small modicum of shock at finally having the truth laid cautiously in his lap. He released a sigh of relief when Rosalie gave a fretful look of confirmation, her bottom lip catching between her teeth.

"Come here, honey," Red whispered, guiding the chilled dress shirt from her shoulders and gathering her in his arms. He wrapped the shivering bundle in the soft flat sheet and nestled her in the warm cradle of his body. Recognizing how vulnerable she felt, he surrounded his lover in comfort and stability, clutching her tightly to his larger frame.

Rosalie wriggled as deep as possible into his hold, resting her head on his outstretched arm. She reached one hand out from under the sheet, threading her slender fingers through his and tracing her thumb along his palm.

"Nobody knew what I was up to. They still don't know…I've never felt as alone as I did then."

The overwhelming memories of Rosalie's early days were still roiling in the back of her mind.

Raymond circled his thumb soothingly with hers, his chest tightening painfully at the sight of her small, delicate hand wrapped around his much larger one. He understood. Red knew all to well what those fledgling criminal days were like.

The early hours were by far the most dangerous.

Those were the days when a criminal likely had no money, no direction and no connections to lean on. It was a mindless scrabbling, clawing tooth and nail to the top of a mountain which never seemed within reach. Those hours were very dark indeed, with the majority of ill deeds being done purely for the sake of survival. It was madness, unmitigated chaos perched upon a pedestal of fear until one day everything mysteriously settles into place.

One day was all it took, out of the blue, to found an empire.

The real trick was keeping it alive past that one day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and so on and so forth. This truth leaves criminals in a constant state of fear that the precious world they've built could one day come crumbling down just as quickly and mysteriously as it was created.

This was one of the main reasons Red and Rosalie never sat back on their laurels and enjoyed their ill-gotten gains. They became anxious if their businesses were idle for too long. They were always moving on to the next deal, the next trade the next client.

It was the reason Rosalie didn't turn down the Peninsula and the Four Seasons when they came knocking, though her operation did not yet have the structure to support the properties. She was making it work by building out her empire at a much aster rate than she had initially planned. The whole predicament felt dicey, but the building blocks of her expansion were slowly mechanically settling into place.

It was no wonder, with everything going on, that Rosalie had been dragged back to those perilous hours. The moment her mind had found a modicum of calm and quiet, the underlying stress latched onto the memories mirroring those emotions. It was her inner criminal's way of impressing upon her the perils of failing to find that solid ground.

"You aren't alone, little dove," he whispered, curling himself around the soft feminine figure beside him.

Rosalie placed a kiss to each of the arms wrapped around her. "I know I'm not, it was just a dream, I don't know why it had to happen now."

"I think it happened because you're scared. I would imagine you're feeling exposed and overstretched, and it sounds to me like the only memories you have to help process those emotions are all deeply unpleasant.

Rosalie turned her head and blinked up at him through startled gray eyes, taken aback by his insight. Her blonde head gave a tiny nod, agreeing with his hypothesis.

Raymond's eyes softened as he bent to kiss her shoulder, pleased he had read her correctly. "This expansion is like building your network all over again. You're finding what works and what doesn't. There was always going to be a learning curve, a period of discomfort. Keep in mind, this scenario may _feel_ similar to the beginning, but you're far better off now than you were then. You are structurally sound at the core of your business, you're simply building it out. You were alone last time. Now you have an entire circle of people at your back." His lips trailed a line up to her neck, allowing his words to sink in . "You're in the thick of it now, but it's only going to get better from here. By the end of the year, I bet you'll have your feet back under you."

"Promise?" Rosalie murmured, opening further to his mouth's soothing touch, taking comfort in his proximity and gently whispered assurances.

Raymond smiled and turned her in his arms, peppering her upturned face with affection, the scent of peppermint lingering on her lips. "I promise."

Red woke hours later still wrapped around Rosalie. His arm had long since fallen asleep, and the man groaned as he eased the dead appendage out from beneath her head.

Rosalie grumbled and shimmied deeper into the blanket, still out like a light.

Raymond rose and made his way to the ensuite, shaking the life back into his arm. He set about getting ready for an eventful day. He had a meeting scheduled with a nearby game warden who had informed Red's associates he had information relating to 'the German'.

He and Dembe would leave shortly in one of the home's covered jeeps, making for a secluded road southwest of Nairobi's boarder where the warden and the associates would be meeting them.

Red dressed, choosing a pale, lightweight suit to combat the ungodly heat which would begin pouring over the landscape at any moment. He decided against a jacket, opting for just his shirt and waistcoat instead.

Admittedly, Raymond hadn't worn his customary suit in days. As they were laying low, the man had been content to wear more casual, inconspicuous attire, like jeans, cotton shirts, and linen slacks. Now, however, he had business to attend to.

Most of his and Rosalie's respective dealings were being handled remotely, but this bit of intel was the first lead they'd received on their nameless tails. Red was determined to ferret out the German and his co-conspirator, and so, was disrupting their current status quo in favor of pursuing this intel. He and Dembe would need to be cautions in how they disembarked and how they returned to the property, but that was par for the course at this point.

Stepping back into their bedroom, Raymond sniggered at the bundle of blankets that was his companion. If possible, he had grown even more enamored with Rosalie in the past month as their dynamic fluctuated and adapted to their new circumstances.

She was perpetually fretting she was relying too heavily on him, but truthfully, he was thoroughly enjoying this interlude. With her network in such an upheaval, this was the first time in which Raymond was really allowed to coddle his lover. Rosalie's emotions were entirely transparent, and often as turbulent as her network. She was spitting fire one second and quaking in his arms the next. She sought him and his reassurance openly, and frankly it set a primal corner of Red on fire.

He was having a damn good time discovering and basking in all that was Rosalie Øllegaard. As a matter of fact…

The man stealthily crept toward the bed, indenting the mattress with one knee as he surrounded the bundled up silhouette with his masculine frame.

"I'm too tired to play," Rosalie grumbled, scrunching back into a ball.

Raymond chortled at her muffled discontent. "I was merely trying to unearth you from your hoard of stolen bedding." His tone was teasing as he poked and prodded here and there, attempting to find an opening.

A lone, feminine hand snuck out from the mass of blankets and blindly grasped his tie. "I wouldn't have to steal them if you'd get back in here and cuddle me."

"Make up your mind, woman." Raymond beamed for his lot in life, quite happy to let her drag him beneath the sheets once more. His suit would wrinkle, but there were far more important things to be getting on with. First and foremost was the delightfully nude twenty-nine year-old his arms were now full of.

Rosalie wriggled within his grasp, wrapping herself around him and nuzzling playfully at a few of his most sensitive spots.

"You said you were too tired to play, liar."

Admittedly, he was damn pleased with this turn of events. His body responded instantly to her needy writhing, urging him to give the ravenous little minx anything she wanted.

"I'm a criminal, darling, we're all liars and scoundrels."

A husky moan slipped from Red's lips when a warm, wet little tongue flicked his earlobe, a sharp set of teeth nibbling it ever so tantalizingly.

A knock sounded and they both grumbled their displeasure.

"Saved by the bell." Rosalie quipped, moving to release him with a morose sigh.

"Five minutes!" Red barked at the door, knowing Dembe would make himself scarce.

"You are vastly underestimating our collective stamina." Rosalie was sniggering now, though her amusement quietened when she met her lover's burning stare.

"Oh, I'm not underestimating your stamina at all, my dear." The lascivious comment held entirely too much bravado, in her opinion, "It's still early, and if there's anything I've learned about these quiet hours before dawn, it's that every burning corner of you is helpless to my advances."

Rosalie quailed under that knowing gaze. The man flashed her a predatory grin and rolled so she was on her back beneath him, his imposing bulk making her squirm wantonly.

Rosalie's lips released a sharp gasp when Red wedged himself between her legs, spreading her thighs wide for what he had in mind.

He tore the blanket from them both and tossed it toward the foot of the bed, leaving his companion laid bare beneath him.

Rosalie put on a show of maiden modesty her hands quickly covering those places Raymond desired most. "Oh, my…" Her long lashes batted coyly up at him, teasing him with the notion she might deny access to those virtues.

An almost feral glint illuminated Red's features, his left eye giving an almost imperceptible twitch at her defiance. "Oh, _yes_," he husked in a deadly purr.

Before Rosalie could even blink, Red snatched the delicate hands shielding her delectable body from his view. The fingers of his left hand threaded through both of hers, and pulling her body taut, he pinned them to the pillows above her head. The whole of that voluptuous hourglass was completely open to him.

A telling flush was making its way from Rosalie's cheeks down the long line of her neck.

Red could tell she was excited and intrigued by this change of pace.

She tugged playfully at his restraint, her lips arching into a naughty grin as he held her fast.

"Go ahead and writhe, little dove, you aren't going anywhere."

This comment sent goosebumps racing down Rosalie's extremities. She couldn't help but whimper her involvement, wondering what other decadent, sinful ideas lay waiting in her lover's mind.

"Yes, I know," Raymond cooed, his fingertips teasing a burning trail along her torso, tracing the taut lines of her stomach. "You're aching to be touched and by someone who knows exactly what you require." His right hand steadily explored her, fingertips tip-tapping along her ribcage, flitting with the ghost of a sensation over the dip in her waist, thumbing the pink pebbled flesh of her nipples and instigating a deluge of breathy, whispered mews.

"There's something so decadent about having my wicked way with you while I'm fully clothed." His tone was reverent as he tweaked the tightened peak of her left nipple once more. He smiled when his lover arched into his teasing. "Having you sprawled out before me, naked as Eve, tempting as the apple, your surrender to my possession on full display…"

Red dragged short nails along her side, swirling from the top of her ribs down, down to the lush curve of her hip and along the back of her thigh, igniting a torrent of gooseflesh throughout her body. "God, the way that little blush trickles down your throat and along your breasts…It makes my tongue just itch to taste my favorite spots."

The hot, wet tip of that muscle darted out to lick his lips, the action garnering Rosalie's full and undivided attention.

The stark black of her pupils swallowed the remaining sliver of iris as her eyes belied his effect on her. The flickering heat in those orbs, the thirst of her parted lips and stilled breath was enough to make his blood burn.

His fingers continued their trek south while mouth moved forward, bringing him within reach of her bountiful breasts. He nuzzled the impeccably soft skin, inhaling the sweet, delicate scent of her as the tip of his nose circled those painfully tightened peaks, the satiny mounds longing for the delicious torment of his mouth.

A desperate mew leapt out of Rosalie's throat, shimmering on the air as he slowly teased her into madness. "Wha-What about you?" Her hands wriggled in his grasp, eager to touch him.

"Oh, I'll get mine, you can be certain of that." Red's large hand eased its way up her thigh, fingers tracing maddening circles over it and its twin, sneaking steadily closer and closer to the valley between. "Time provides a wealth of opportunity, if one has the patience to let it unfold."

Rosalie wasn't sure what Raymond was planning, but his voice convinced her he was up to something devious. Her breath hitched with another wave of desire, her mind running rampant with fantasies of what he might want to do with her.

Raymond cocked his head and grinned at the action, bending to place warm lips to her sternum, then migrating upward to nibble her neck as his knuckles grazed the softness waiting between her thighs.

A deep, rough growl met Rosalie's ears as the very tip of Red's fingers parted her folds, encountering the slick heat they both knew was pooling there.

"I knew this would excite you." He dragged his teeth along the shell of her ear, causing another torrent of shivering spasms to take over her body. "There are times when being exposed and…" his thick middle finger breached the tight hold, "_overstretched_, can be quite a pleasurable experience."

Rosalie gasped at the intrusion, her cheeks plumping with a mischievous smile. "Is that what you're hoping to convey by pinning me down and having your way?"

"Yes," Red retorted, perfectly unabashed. His fingertips continued to pet her soft, warm lips, the digit inside her retreating to circle the very entrance of her sex. "You see, my dear, there are many ways for us to build trust, just as there are many ways for us to be reminded of the other's. I intend to make you come undone just like this because I want you to remember this important rule. When our world becomes too much, when you feel the need to surrender or submit any part of yourself to me, you will trust me to heed that call, just as I'll trust you."

Rosalie stilled. What she had initially considered a mere bout of playful role-play or a simple exploration of a kink was in fact much, much more. Raymond was reminding her of the promises they'd made, reminding her when chaos reigned it was in his arms she could find sanctuary. Rosalie's eyes softened and her thumbs circled the back of his large hand. If possible, she adored the man more now than she had just moments ago.

Raymond smiled at the range of emotions traveling across her face, continuing his playtime without pause. His fingers brushed her clit tauntingly, pulling an enjoyable little sigh from her lips. He leaned forward and kissed that rosy flesh, deepening the caress immediately, his agile tongue dominating her little mouth.

Rosalie mewled, relenting to the demand with pleasure.

Red felt her body relax further into his hold, opening to any exploration which might tickle his fancy. The knowledge had him releasing a desirous moan which vibrated her lips.

Rosalie squealed when he buried that thick middle digit back in her tight heat, stroking and thrusting slowly in and out, teasing the sensitive walls of her sex. A lewd chuckle reached her ears, but she was far too preoccupied with Red's tongue to pay much notice.

Raymond left her gasping for air, his mouth hungrily scouring her torso, nipping and sucking here and there while his hand worked to produce that special brand of magic betwixt her thighs.

"More," Rosalie pleaded when his teeth nibbled a taut pink nipple, drawing the stiff peak into his scorching mouth and laving his rough tongue over its sensitized surface. A throaty moan poured from her lips, the action more than sufficiently driving her wild.

Red released the abused bud with a soft '_pop_', watching in heated intrigue as the beautiful mound bounced erotically once before latching his mouth around it once more.

The warm arousal pooling inside Rosalie increased dramatically along with her needy whimpers. She groaned her discontent when the appendage pleasure her suddenly retreated.

"_Shh_…" Raymond soothed, releasing his hold on her breast to pay homage to its twin. The slick pad of his middle finger circled the whole of her left nipple, coating the little peak in that liquid euphoria. He allowed his breath to whisper over her wet skin, chilling the pink flesh into a rigid point before his hand returned to its exploration of her volcanic depths.

"More," she begged, writhing in his hold as he began that come-hither motion which would turn her into a puddle of wanton need beneath him.

"One is enough you greedy little thing," Red managed to chastise, though his tone was burning with affection and lust. "One is all it takes to quiet that need yet leave you quietly aching for something more substantial to truly satisfy."

That beckoning motion increased in tempo, pulling a pleading moan from its victim who was now squirming in earnest, desperation marring her pretty features as she sought further stimulation. "_Please_."

Her whispered cries of surrender thrilled her lover, who was circling the wet peak of her nipple with the tip of his nose, inundating himself with the delicious scent of her wet quim.

"You'd better come, my five minutes are damn near up."

Red knew they wouldn't be interrupted, but teasing Rosalie with the possibility of him stopping before she could reach that peak sent her into an adorable frenzy.

The heal of his hand pressed tightly to her sex, applying just the right amount of pressure to her clit. He smiled when she rut her hips needle against his palm, chasing that razor's edge, her whimpering moans filling the room.

"_Raymond_."

Rosalie hissed his name in that raspy plea, the sound traveling straight to the man's cock. His mouth split into a devious grin before his teeth grazed the nipple he had been teasing, his tongue flicking the hardened bud repeatedly as his lover arched lustfully into his warm mouth.

"D-Don't…_stop_."

Red kept the same disciplined tempo, inching her toward the precipice at a torturous pace. His mouth wrapped around her quivering nipple, his tongue flooding with the sweet tang of her pussy.

God, the taste of her…it made him ache to bury his tongue inside that coveted alcove and writhe it within until she shattered just for him.

Rosalie's lungs fluttered laboriously as her body sought completion, her whole being basking in the delicious agony only Raymond could instill upon her. "_Oh, please_," her voice quavered helplessly, her nails digging into the back of the masculine hand holding her down as he entire frame bowed and shivered, reaching that tipping point and teetering on the brink.

Red couldn't help the self-satisfied smirk taking over his features. A primal, male corner of him howled its possessive delight as she shook beneath him. It was his teasing, his attention which held her _right there_, waiting to be brought toppling into absolute euphoria. He released her breast long enough to growl in her ear.

"Come, little dove. _Now_."

The command made Rosalie's breath catch in her chest and the velvet heat of her pussy clench tightly about the digit curling steadily against that sweet spot deep within her.

"Yes," Rosalie managed to eek out as her orgasm bore down on her, "God…_Yes_."

Raymond suckled relentlessly, teasing her tortured flesh until it felt raw. The dexterous digit wedged in her spasming depths maintained its unwavering rhythm, slowly coaxing her orgasm to a spine-tingling crescendo.

"_Harder_," she cried out in a ragged gasp, her toes curling against his thighs, which were still forcefully wedged between hers, holding her spread wide.

Red silenced her with a bruising kiss, easing the ache in her core little by little until she trembled and collapsed into a mess of warm, sated female.

He finished the kiss, easing to a more gentle, affectionate caress, savoring the tiny moans which still fell from her throat as softly as the coo of a dove.

"That's my girl." The thick, graveled sentiment was purred against her cheek, where Red kissed her once more before leaving to freshen up in the master bath.

Raymond smiled to himself as he washed up and rolled his sleeves, his mind already conjuring plans for that night when they would have a bit more time to themselves. He returned to the bedroom with a bounce in his step despite the rigid erection he was currently nursing, which had to be adjusted upon catching sight of his handiwork.

Rosalie was sprawled luxuriously in the center of their bed, the loose sheet draped carelessly over her boneless body, her long blonde tresses scattered in a fit of tousled waves along her back.

She was just as he had said she'd be; satisfied, but just barely.

Those molten gray eyes followed his progress across the room like a lithe little leopard waiting to pounce.

"I'll see you tonight, pet." He dipped his head to kiss her once more, a chuckle escaping his lips when she growled in response.

Rosalie allowed the chaste affection but for one small glower. "Hurry home, you smug bastard."

Raymond let out a barking laugh and brushed her cheek with his thumb before Dembe knocked once more. Red left the suite with but a small, mischief-ladened wink, off to handle business so he could in fact '_hurry home_'.

Rosalie came into the main living space shortly after in search of Ted. Finding him on the deck with a pot of tea, she grabbed a cup and joined him.

"Which way is the wind blowing today, Teddy?"

"North by Northwest and heavily in our favor," came Ted's impish reply, as he pulled out a chair for her beside him.

This had become their customary greeting over the month in which Ted Beaumont had taken up the role of Rosalie's right-hand man.

Ted was an agreeable, humble fellow, soft-spoken like Dembe, yet mischievous like Raymond. Most of all, he was honest and straight-forward in a way that was entirely his own. He didn't hesitate to voice his opinion on matters in Rosalie's network as well as in their little band of criminals, and their group was quickly learning that enjoyable, amenable Ted was also quite adept at managing complex issues. A number of the crises which had filtered into Rosalie's expansion had fallen into his court, and between himself and Rosalie, the obstacles became far less daunting.

The pair had grown quite comfortable with their dynamic and their friendship positively bloomed as the days went by.

"I take it Qiaolian has made it to Manila?" Rosalie asked, takin the offered seat with a bright though exhausted smile.

Ted nodded filling her teacup and passing her a handful of notes. "She wanted you to know the property is turn-key, no modifications need to be made other than your own storage lockers and the security dugout on the main floor."

Rosalie scoffed, "How did you get away with an all clear?" Her tone was suspicious and accusing, "Every time she calls _me_ it's with a mile long list of things which have garnered her displeasure."

Ted laughed and shrugged, "I've not the foggiest idea, she seemed sweet as you please when I spoke to her."

His employer's eyes rolled expressively, an impish glint twinkling in their depths. "That's it, I'm having you deal with her from now on. She's a hopeless flirt, I'm sure she's madly in love with you. Lord only knows why."

He took offense to that jibe, "I'll have you know, I happen to be an absolute charmer when I want to be."

Rosalie's retort was scathing, "Yes, well, you and Raymond have a few things in common. You should have seen her fawning over him while we were in Hong Kong. It was disgusting."

Ted grinned, "I'm sure Ray encouraged such favoring."

"Of course he did, that ill-behaved…ugh!" Rosalie picked up her pen and flipped viciously through her folio.

"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise? Ray did warn me to tread softly today."

Rosalie glared up at him, her irritation complete. "_Oh_…that man," she growled before heaving a sigh, "No, no troubles." He had simply gotten her thoroughly riled and then scampered off for the day, leaving her to stew in a burning pit of unresolved arousal. On second thought… "He's just a rascal and an absolute cad."

"That bad, huh?" Ted carefully hid his amusement behind his teacup. He could easily guess the truth behind Rosalie's disgruntlement, having been in the kitchen when Dembe returned from the first attempt to fetch Raymond, grumbling and muttering something about rabbits.

"_Tread softly_…" Rosalie groused under her breath, "I'll show him tread softly. When he gets home, pop him in the nose for me, will you? Preferably with a big stick."

"Anything for you, my queen," Ted gave a goofy salute, followed by a none too graceful bow, "I applaud your Roosevelt tactics."

Rosalie tittered and flipped through her notes, "Careful, I'm in the market for a pseudonym."

A delighted bark of laughter left Teddy's throat, "_Queenie_. Oh, Christ, that's fantastic. Ray would never let you hear the end of it."

This was true, and with an exaggerated sigh, Rosalie set about getting started for the day. "Fine, ruin my fun. What's on the docket for today?"

Ted lay his own notepad on the table with an excitable flourish, "For once, not much."

Rosalie leaned over, double-checking their notes, "That can't be right, yesterday was absolute madness."

"You've got a 14:30 phone call with Luli about the ledger and you wanted to review the timeline for the Four Seasons expansion happening two weeks from now, that's all we've got."

"The last round of new hires?" She asked, going through the list of issues they had been bogged down with the past week.

"You reviewed them all yesterday evening. The notes you made were put into action this morning."

"All of them?"

"Rosalie, we were up past two in the morning dealing with it so you wouldn't have to deal with any more hires."

The woman rolled her eyes, recalling what had kept her so late last night. "Of course, you're right, I completely blocked that tedious process from memory."

Ted snorted indelicately, setting aside the completed notes.

Rosalie was still convinced they were missing something. "What about Jenica? Are we current on her timeline?"

Jenica previously worked as a maid for the property in Varna, Bulgaria. Once news of the expansion reached Rosalie's associates, the young woman expressed interest in managing the new penthouse in Bodrum, Turkey, where her long-term boyfriend lived and worked. The property manager in Bulgaria recommended her with high regard, and Rosalie was only too happy to oblige, immediately sending Jenica to be trained at the side of her Athens property manager.

"Jenica just finished her stint with Oxiris yesterday. She's boarding flight DX1A to Bodrum tomorrow morning at 07:00."

"The apartment's ready for her?" Rosalie wanted to ensure the woman had everything she needed to begin her new role.

Ted nodded, "Cleaned, stocked, and turn-key. Her staff will be arriving for orientation next week, and business will commence October 15th."

Rosalie's teeth caught her bottom lip, unsure whether they were actually current or if they were just missing something vital.

"I know what you're thinking," Ted assured, "I've checked. Thrice. We're truthfully caught up. Unless something goes awry in the active properties, we have a brief respite until the last set of expansions in two weeks' time."

Rosalie let out a gigantic sigh of relief, grasping Teddy's shoulder in one hand and turning her face up to the sun, her eyes closing serenely. "Teddy dear…take the day off."

_Nairobi Highway Turnoff- Undisclosed Location, Kenya - September 21, 1999_

Raymond and Dembe made quick time to the outskirts of Nairobi, with but one stop at a roadside stand for a batch of warm mandazi, glistening sugar-dusted donuts which the pair happily munched all the way to the turn off, where the jeep they were in took to a rarely traversed dirt road bearing south.

Red's mind was firmly back at the safehouse, his mind burning with all kinds of sensual fantasies involving his blonde lover. The feel of her luscious little mound was burned into Raymond's hand, taunting him with the most delicious recollections every time he closed his eyes. That morning's interlude had wielded a wealth of delightful surprises, the kind of surprises he planned on fully exploring later. His tongue circled the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore how the muscle was still imprinted with the sweet, pert peak of a nipple.

Christ, he needed to get laid.

A mile and a half down the dusty, pothole-ridden road, they came upon an almost identical jeep and a battered white truck waiting in the center of the road. Three men were waiting for them, two resting on the hood of the truck and one perched upon the hood of the jeep. They watched passively as Dembe pulled up to them, throwing the jeep in park.

Red recognized two of his own associates as the ones on the truck. Gakere and Odongo, most often referred to simply as 'the twins'. The pair rose from their seats as he and Dembe disembarked their vehicle. The men shook hands and greeted one another before turning to the fifth wheel of their gathering.

Odongo gestured to the tall burly Kenyan resting against the front of his jeep. "Mr. Reddington, this is our source, Ndwiga."

Raymond beamed and grasped the man's massive hand, shaking it firmly before removing his sunglasses.

"You are staying at Kimbilio." The man's rough bass voice rumbled amusedly from his chest.

Red's visage perked up at this, recognizing the name of Rosalie's black site. "How did you know?" He was keen to know how the warden knew of the location.

Ndwiga flashed a bright smile, bursting with pride as he informed the other man, "I am the game warden of Kimbilio, I know the property like my own soul. Your jeep is one of Miss Rosalie's."

Red and Dembe glanced back at their jeep, nearly identical to Ndwiga's, the former letting out an amused bark of laughter. "I guess it's a small world, after all."

Ndwiga's eyes crinkled jovially at the peculiar man before him. He was used to people being intimidated by him, likely because he was so tall and so large. However, this funny white man Ms. Rosalie was harboring seemed amused and intrigued by everything around him. Ndwiga decided he liked him.

"You are looking for information regarding a man answering to 'the German,' yes?"

"Yes," Reddington nodded, his heart pounding with excitement. "I was told you might have intel regarding his activities."

Ndwiga wrinkled his nose, his eyes squinting away the harsh midday sun."Yes, I overheard a handful of rebel fighters discussing him in the same bar where I met Gakere and Odongo. The rebels encountered the German in their travels through Northern Kenya."

Raymond scratched at his chin, "What was their purpose in meeting with the German?"

"I do not know," the man admitted ruefully, "I do know that the German specifically sought out their leader, a war monger named Fisi."

Red's head lifted in recognition of the name. Fisi had been a rebel fighter not unlike the kind of boys Dembe had grown up with. However, Fisi had been making a rather notorious name for himself as of late, having grown into a ruthless killer and avid employer of boy soldiers. The thought turned the man's stomach. He could feel Dembe shift uncomfortably behind him.

Ndwiga noticed this. "You know him?"

"Only whispers and ghost stories." Dembe growled, peering between him and Raymond with a furrowed brow. "I take it Fisi has been a problem for you?"

The intimidating man's eyes turned hollow and haunted, "He has been taking the children." Heavy boot-clad feet scuffed the dirt at his feet, "Mothers cannot sleep for fear their boys will be taken and turned into soulless demons. Fathers are sending their daughters to family in Nairobi so they will not end up as slaves to the rebels or worse…" Words fail Ndwiga at the horrors which have been encroaching upon their community from Fisi's regime. "If you meet him and get your intel, I would ask that you kill him, least we all perish."

Raymond was surprised at this request coming from a man who seemed to radiate calm and compassion. "What convinces you I could accomplish such a thing?"

"You are one of Ms. Rosalie's criminals." The man shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She only harbors powerful people, the kind of criminals capable of decimating a rebel band. Rosalie loathes men like Fisi, she even bought the lot initially planned for Kimbilio and built a compound for us and our families so we would not have to worry about him. _We_ are safe, but others are still suffering."

Red nodded his understanding, sharing a sidelong glance with Dembe before turning back to Ndwiga. "My associates and I vehemently disagree with the abduction and training of child soldiers. If I can rid you of Fisi, I'll do so. However, in order to do that I will need any information you have on how to get in contact with him and his rebels."

_Blacksite #17 - a.k.a 'Kimbilio' - Undisclosed Location, Kenya - September 21, 1999_

The two men arrived in the blessed cool of Kimbilio's interior a couple of hours later, after setting the twins on the trail for Fisi's band. They were to put the word out Reddington was looking to sell off an arsenal of weaponry to the rebel band and wait for him to bite.

Red was quite certain the temptation would draw Fisi from his hideout in the jungle, greedy tyrant that he was.

Ted was leisurely drinking a beer on the leather Chesterfield when they arrived. He lifted his bottle in a jovial manner, "All right, Ray? Dembe?"

The two tired and sweaty men eyed the cold beverage covetously.

Ted pulled the bottle closer to his chest, "There's more in the icebox. This one's mine."

Dembe snorted and made his way to the requisite appliance, pulling out two glass bottles and holding one out to Raymond.

He took the offered refreshment gratefully and cracked the top. "You seem pleased." His attention had returned to Ted's relaxed pose on the sofa.

"We're caught up." His brows lifted significantly, "We've got a small reprieve from it all until the next expansion."

"_Really_?" Red watched Dembe kick off his boots and flop gracelessly into the opposite corner of the sofa.

"I'm sure Rosalie is pleased."

Ted agreed, clinking his bottle with Dembe's before taking another swig. "Which reminds me," he turned to blink impishly up at Red, "Whatever stunt you pulled this morning, she was spitting fire for hours."

Raymond chuckled knowingly, "I take it she was a tad flustered."

Ted snorted, "Wound tighter than an eight-day clock, more like. I was supposed to pop you in the nose when you got back but…" His head tilted onto the back of the sofa, one arm stretching out to wiggle lazy fingers in Red's direction. "Nah, too far away."

The fugitive was pleased to find the house's occupants so jovial, especially after the late nights they'd been having. "Where is the little hellcat now?"

"Sunbathing on your balcony," Ted waggled his eyebrows knowingly, "Absolutely starkers, too."

Red's expression turned quietly lethal, "How would you know that, Theodore?"

The woman's bodyguard was perfectly unfazed. "She told me, Raymond. I was informed to bugger off that side of the house if I know what's good for me; because she needed to get rid of that tan line she got in Maracaibo."

Red sauntered off without another word, knowing exactly which little tan line the man was referring to and realizing there was once again a perfectly naked woman waiting for him in the master suite.

"Like I said," Dembe chuckled with a contented sigh, taking a long swig of beer, "Rabbits."

He and Ted continued to drink in amused, companionable silence.

"All this influx is putting a strain on your laundering service."

Luli and Rosalie had been on the phone going over the ledgers for the better part of a half-hour.

"This isn't going to be a one-off. This influx is likely to remain steady for the foreseeable future, so we are going to need an entirely new launderer. I'll have to talk with Raymond, he'll know which provider is the most trustworthy."

Luli agreed, "I don't know enough players to give a recommendation, let me know what Reddington says. How is everything else with the expansion?"

Rosalie twirled her pen absent-mindedly, "We still don't know who told the Peninsula and the Four Seasons about the deal I struck with the Mandarin, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Today has gone significantly better than yesterday."

"Why, what happened?"

"We're caught up," Rosalie divulged cheerily, making another note on her timeline with a flourish.

"No, what happened yesterday that was so unpleasant?" Luli could be heard shifting papers about in her office, setting aside the ledger until the next time they met.

"Chaos," Rosalie sighed, "There was so much going on this week, the whole network was in an upheaval. I got so bent out of shape I dreamt of home, when the house was in foreclosure and all of this started. It was the worst."

Luli made a sympathetic tutting noise, "Christ, that feels like ages ago. How is Mama?"

Rosalie's brow pinched together, "Oh, same old same, she seems to like the new condo and the community she's in is great."

"How is she, _really_, Georgie?" Luli had known her long enough to know when her friend was making light of a problem.

"Don't call me that." Rosalie expertly dodged the question. She was perpetually reminding Luli she no longer went by that name and it was incredibly dangerous to call her as such, but Lu rarely ever took heed. "One of my associates could overhear you, then we'd both be up a creek. Nobody knows who I was."

Rosalie could practically hear Luli's eyes roll at this. "Ah, you miscreants and your aliases…Speaking of which, how are things with your business partner? Have you slept with him yet?"

"_Luli_!" Rosalie sounded perfectly scandalized. She hadn't told her friend a thing about her and Raymond's relationship.

"Oh come on, Rosalie, you can't tell me you're not intrigued by the very thought of bedding one of your criminals. That felon you run around with is-"

"He's not a felon," Rosalie peevishly corrected, "He's never actually been convicted of anything."

She could practically hear the maniacal grin gracing Luli's lips, "Oh, aren't _we_ a stickler for the details? Don't lie, babe. I've seen pictures of him in the newspaper. He's not bad on the eyes, in a boring, heterosexual sort of way."

A deafening silence greeted these words, making Luli laugh even harder before she was abruptly cut off. "Go to hell, Scott, I'm busy."

"Who's Scott?" Asked Rosalie, thoroughly confused, scratching out a note on her timeline with vigor.

"_I need a moment of your time, princess_," came a smug male voice from the other line. A lone incredulous brow lifted when Rosalie heard the man's retort. If there was a certain way to garner ill-will with Luli, belittling nicknames was it.

Luli tilted the receiver slightly away from her mouth and snapped, "The salutation you're looking for is _Ma'am_, and I said go to hell, Scott."

"Play nicely, Lu." Rosalie chided mischievously, shifting through her notes once more.

"_Now_, Zeng."

"Damn. I'll give you a call back, I have to get rid of this entitled man child."

The phone hung up with a loud click as Rosalie started laughing. She did not envy the man on the receiving end of Luli's wrath.

Raymond had just stepped through the bedroom door as she hung up, unaware she now had an audience.

Treading stealthily toward the tent-like opening leading outside, the man damn near dropped the bottle in his grasp when he came upon his companion.

Rosalie Øllegaard was naked as a jay bird and lounging on her stomach in one of the deck chairs. An array of glossy property photos haloed her person, the abandoned satellite phone sat next to a freshly poured gin and tonic. She twirled a pen in her hand, bringing the end of it to her lips and tapping the plump flesh twice before concentration.

"_Son of a bitch_." Red's voice was such a low rumble, the object of his affection didn't even hear him.

His eyes roamed her prone form with a vicious hunger he swore was going to swallow him whole.

The soft soles of her feet showcased high arches, leading up past her ankles to those damnable legs, toned and supple, the left one bending at the knee and playfully wiggling her foot in time to whatever song she was humming. The little minx was blissfully unaware of what she was putting Red through, sprawled out in the bright midday rays, sunning her pert little ass without a care in the world.

How on earth had he lived this long without having this to come home to every day?

Raymond had no answers as his gaze caressed the smooth curve of her backside up to the small of her back where those god forsaken dimples resided. The very thought of those tiny twin divots had Red pulling at the neck of his shirt, suddenly quite uncomfortably hot.

He set his beer aside, tearing the waistcoat and shirt from his person, leaving him in his slacks and belt as he inched a bit further forward.

The sun-kissed expanse of her back and shoulders had his hands aching to smooth over the silky skin, to feel if the listening breadth of her torso was as warm and inviting as it looked.

Her blonde curls were twisted in a loose braid beneath the Borsalino he had given her in Siena, the only stitch on an otherwise perfectly bare beauty.

A groan of longing snuck out of Red's throat when Rosalie arched, stretching a bit of tightness from her back and giving him a magnificent view of her breasts.

Rosalie grinned a mischievous smile at the masculine sound, turning to see her lover standing at the edge of the room's opening. "Well hello there, peeping tom. Are you enjoying the view?"

"I've always been a voyeur." He purred the retort with a roguish smile, staring openly at her sun-drenched curves. "I could procure a horse should you wish to be my Lady Godiva."

Rosalie didn't miss a beat, "Oh, yeah? Are you going to build me a Benedictine monastery for my troubles? I must admit, there are things I would much prefer to a house of worship."

Red's deep, sultry laugh traveled enticingly along her skin, even from such a distance.

"Perhaps not, though I could offer you a great many things for the chance to look upon thy most intimate virtues."

Rosalie tittered at his wit, removing her sunglasses to reveal those heated gray eyes, playful and glinting with mischief as she considered the intruder to her domain. "_There are precious few things which could tempt_…"

Raymond rested against the heavy ebony trunk at the foot of their bed, crossing his arms in front of his chest, the movement distracting as hell. The action showcased the brawny muscles in his arms, so often hidden by his shirts.

Rosalie was completely smitten by the view, her pupils dilated and any thoughts of witty banter disappearing with a shaky exhale.

Red watched her with a bravado which had been ignited that morning and kindled throughout the day with thoughts of being alone with her. She rose from the lounge chair, coquettishly baring the front of her body to his avid attention. He watched her cheeks flush a soft pink as his immovable gaze burned her from the inside out.

Rosalie's attention was locked on the man's chest, the soft down of hair beckoning her to him. She strode brazenly into their room, not bothering to cover any part of herself.

Raymond uncrossed his arms and spread his legs, making space for the woman as she cozied up to him. His broad hands encapsulated her waist, drawing her into his influence, her skin was hot to the touch as his thumbs brushed soothingly back and forth.

"You seem quite tempted, little dove."

Rosalie's hands rose to touch him, threading slender fingers through his chest hair and caressing the expanse of his torso. "You are damn tempting."

Red smiled, placing his lips to her shoulder and kissing the length of her clavicle. Her hands moved up along his neck to tease his scalp, making the man grunt and lower his mouth to her breast.

When Rosalie leaned to kiss the top of his head, she halted. "You smell…" she mewed, brushing the tip of her nose along his jaw and down his neck.

Raymond laughed at the perceived slight, "It's hotter than Dallas outside, I probably need to shower."

Her perusal didn't cease. "No."

The man peered bemusedly down at his companion, "You could shower with me?"

"No..I mean, yes, I would, but not yet." Her lips were wandering every which way down his neck and chest, nipping and laving his most sensitive spots with relish.

He could hear her breathing deeply against the warmth of his skin. "What do I smell like that has so thoroughly piqued you interest, my dear?"

"Like your cologne, but different," her teeth nibbled a taut muscle running the length of his throat, "You're sunlight and warm earth…" her breath hitched a barely audible quaver, "trees, salty sea…I can only guess this is what pheromones are."

Raymond leaned into her mouth, turning to meet her gaze with a warm, amused grin.

"Every man is different, but yours is…" Rosalie swallowed thickly, blinking up at him with doe eyes, "Yours is making me, well…"

"_Wet_," he supplied with a predatory cock of his head.

Rosalie nodded dazedly, immediately capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.

He returned the affection, his hands teasing and grasping at her luscious curves. His tongue tangled with hers, pulling a string of needy moans from her throat.

"I've been wanting you all day." She murmured against his lips, pulling him further into her sphere.

"I never tire of hearing that, I take it today is going more smoothly than last night?"

Rosalie nodded, carding her fingertips languidly through his short hair before her discussion with Luli came back to mind. "Before I forget, could you please put me in contact with a high capacity laundering service? Luli mentioned the sudden windfall from the new properties isn't capable of being laundered with my current setup."

Raymond sat a little straighter at this. "I know a laundering service who can take you on, until then, I'll launder it for you."

Rosalie blanched, "Oh, you don't have to do that. I was just going to hire it out, it can wait-"

"I know I don't have to, I want to, and I'm going to." He lifted her small frame and turned toward their bed, depositing her on the bed spread and tilting his head in that adorable yet frustrating way.

"Raymond-"

"Rosalie, you promised." His green eyes held her stalwartly, informing her in no uncertain terms that he would not budge on this. She had promised to trust him with these needs and he was a man of his word. He was damn well going to deliver. "I've laundered money for the mob on several occasions, amongst many others; my operation has the bandwidth to spare."

"Are you sure?" Rosalie hated becoming so reliant on his assistance, but she really had no available way to clean the cash.

"I'm about to rescind my offer of assistance if you keep fighting me on this." His tone was purely playful, though his gaze still refused to leave hers. "Give me your accountant's contact information, and I'll handle the rest."

Rosalie visibly hesitated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She trusted Raymond implicitly, but introducing him to Luli would put him in direct contact with someone who knew who she once was. Rosalie was certain she wasn't ready for that information to get out.

Red smoothed his hands over her shoulders, guiding her to lay back on the soft, clean sheets.

"I'm sorry," Rosalie apologized in a fretful wail, her sun-flushed cheeks paling drastically. She didn't want him to think her hesitation stemmed from distrust or that she wasn't incredibly grateful for all he had done.

"It's not that I don't appreciate all of your help, I do, so very much, and you've been so _patient_…I'm just not used to-"

Her apology was cut short by Red's lips on hers. A long, shimmering mew of desire was pulled from her throat as his tongue tangled happily with hers.

He kissed her until she was putty in his hands, her warm body melding readily into his own.

"I'm only teasing you, love." His tone was husky yet reassuring, his breath ghosting over her parted lips, titillating her with each breath he took. "Though you are hesitating, may I ask why? I'm certainly not going to run off with your money, that'd be tantamount to shooting myself in the foot and more importantly, would all but guarantee I'd be denied access to this lovely little figure of yours."

This was certainly true, and was just one of a number of reasons why Rosalie hadn't even considered the idea that Raymond could be offering to assist her in order to rob her. It would be bad business, plain and simple. Rosalie was making a fortune with this new setup, and Raymond Reddington was benefiting just as much from the expansion. The number of clients he could take on for relocation and transportation had effectively doubled as well.

"I know you wouldn't rob me, Raymond," Rosalie's voice was thready with a cacophony of emotions.

"Then what has you so skittish, pet? We were doing so well-" He let the comment hang in the air for a spell. Red had spent the better part of that morning quietly reveling in this new dynamic blossoming between them. "Did my antics this morning perhaps make you angry with me?" His smile was an impish one as he considered her features.

"No," Rosalie assured, then corrected herself, "I mean yes, but that's not why I'm-" She huffed and attempted to sit up, but her companion's broad frame was busy enclosing her smaller one.

Raymond's tongue prodded the inside of his cheek in a playful manner, her waspy temper serving to amuse him.

"Luli knows my name." Rosalie snapped, wincing at her loss of tact. "Luli knows everything about me and it makes me nervous to put you Ito contact with her, because I'm not ready for anyone to know who I was."

Understanding dawned on Red's features, his lips pursing in a thoughtful pucker as he nodded his comprehension of the issue. "If it's any consolation, my dear," he grinned with the air of one preparing to lob a projectile onto a sinking boat, "Dembe knows everything about me and you've been in contact with him every day for over a year."

Rosalie's lips parted in a soft 'o' her slender brows rocketing to her hairline. "Oh, I- Sorry, Raymond, I completely forgot-"

At that moment, the phone rang, and Rosalie knew it was Luli calling back.

Raymond eyed her with an expression she couldn't quite place. He seemed to be waiting for her to make a decision.

Rosalie considered letting the call go unanswered. She would much rather continue this uninterrupted spell with her lover.

Hadn't they been blissfully carefree, moments ago?

Though, she supposed, the likelihood of Raymond letting their current discussion slide was slim to none. He would prod at the issue until they hashed it out. He always did.

She loved that about him.

Rosalie's eyes widened to the size of saucers as she realized what her inner monologue had just uttered. This was stupid, what on earth was she so afraid of?

Red seemed to read her mind, standing to pick up the phone, opening it and holding it out to her.

"Hey, sorry my coworker is a real pain in the ass." The sound of a heavy deadbolt could be heard through the line alongside Luli's voice.

Rosalie glanced surreptitiously up at Raymond, "Don't worry about it, Lu."

The man quirked a lone brow, expectation written clearly on his face. "I'll take that."

Luli's voice perked up at the sound of a man's voice. "Oh my god, is that him? Hand me over, I have questions."

"You'd better behave," Rosalie threatened into the receiver, making both Luli and the man before her snigger.

He held out a beckoning hand, waggling his fingers for the device.

Rosalie held out the phone, her lips pursed fretfully.

Red dropped a kiss to her sternum before guiding her to an upright position. He grasped her upper arms, giving them a gentle, soothing squeeze as his lips met her ear.

"Your name is something you will tell me in time, little dove, when you are ready and want to share such a piece of yourself. I'm quite content to wait for that day."

Raymond's expression was sincere, though tinged with amusement as he, in his own way, promised not to go looking for information she wasn't ready to share.

The woman finally relented, brushing her lips against his and setting the satellite phone gingerly in his outstretched palm. "I accept no responsibility for what comes out of her mouth."

"_I heard that._"

Red chuckled, lifting the receiver to his ear and began pacing around the room. "Luli Zeng, I've heard interesting things."

"Raymond Reddington. So you're the one who kidnapped my best friend and convinced her to go on the run with you."

Raymond grinned, "That I am," he crooned, giving the woman in question a lascivious once-over.

Rosalie shook her head, giving a coy little smile as she slipped into the silk kimono he had given her for Christmas, leaving the front of the garment open just to torment him.

"I have to know how you managed it," Luli continued, "She usually hates that sort of thing."

"Well, that's a story for her to tell, if she so chooses."

Luli snorted with laughter, "Oh good answer. Is there a boyscout badge for kissing ass?"

"I told you to be nice!" Rosalie's voice cracked like a whip, but was drowned out by Raymond's barking laugh. Now he could see why Rosalie and Luli were so close. Luli had a razor sharp tongue to match her best friend's.

He resignedly steered the conversation back towards business for the sake of Rosalie's nerves. "My companion has informed me you are in need of a more robust laundering service."

Apparently, Rosalie could not help herself at this. "Right down to business? I must say, I'm disappointed, Raymond. Here I was about to tell Lu you knew how to show a woman a damn good time."

Luli could be heard cackling her delight through the connection.

Red's clever eyes trained on his counterpart, shaking his head at her sass. "Pay no attention to the peanut gallery. I assure you I'm far more thrilling in the flesh, as you dear friend can attest."

"_Oh_? She was playing all coy about you earlier, is there more going on I don't know about?"

"She should be so lucky," Red evaded artfully dodging the question.

Rosalie stuck her tongue out at him as she walked by sputtering when the man damn near managed to nab the wet little appendage.

"Well, Raymond, I'm amazed. You've got a woman's closest confidant on the line and haven't immediately started asking questions. She's notoriously difficult to get to know."

Red was not swayed by Luli's obvious baiting. Given his way, the man was planning on usurping the coveted title of Rosalie's confidant. "I love puzzles, and I'm notoriously opposed to having my fun spoiled. Though, on second thought, those lovely little dimples at the base of her spine, have those always been there?"

He reached to tug at Rosalie's kimono with his finger as she passed by once more, watching in undisguised delight as the slip of silk fell in a puddle on the floor.

Rosalie rounded on him with a look of mock indignation, tutting at his mischievous behavior. She then made quite a show of bending over in front of him and plucking the silk from the ground.

"Ugh, you're hitting on her right now, aren't you? I'm pretty sure that constitutes as inappropriate workplace behavior."

"Can you blame me? She's right here looking like something out of my schoolboy daydreams." His eyes traversed the taut, rounded curve of her perky backside, catching the tiniest peak of her perfectly pink lips, the sight teasing him with the siren's call of her hot, sweet center. "Besides, Rosalie and I's sexual conduct policy allows for a broad spectrum of adventurous and exciting office behavior."

"I believe you mean sexual harassment policy."

"Not the way we wrote it." Rosalie giggled, wiggling her tight posterior with no regard for the formidable man she was taunting.

His gaze lingered over the toned muscles of her legs, which flexed as she rose, arching onto the balls of her feet.

"She has the loveliest legs. You went to Stanford with her, what sports did she play in college?"

Luli laughed, "Start guessing, I'll let you know when you've hit the mark."

"Definitely not basketball." He teased, earning an indignant pout from his little innkeeper.

"Correct. She's way too short and hates being shoved. Next?"

"I could see her playing lacrosse."

Rosalie shook her head with vigor, nose wrinkling adorably.

"Ooh, _close_, but lacrosse involved goggles and she thought they made her look like a mad scientist."

Red's eyes once again roamed Rosalie's lower half, trickling along the taut curve of her backside down to her sweet, supple thighs. She wasn't lanky and slender like a swimmer, she hid a very muscular physique beneath those womanly curves. Raymond was reminded just how strong she was whenever they wrestled for dominance between the sheets. His mind fondly recalled how she had actually managed to wrangle him to his back and have her wicked way with him on a couple occasions.

Luli seemed to know what was happening on the other end. "Stop staring at her ass."

"She's singularly distracting," Red protested, eyes flitting up to catch Rosalie's, her pupils were blown wide and her cheeks burning a bright pink as she watched him peruse her frame with obvious interest.

She managed to chastise him in a warm, breathy voice. "Stop talking like I'm not here."

"You are singularly distracting, my dear." He amended readily, trailing teasing fingertips up her inner thigh.

"You are _so_ trying to get in her pants…"

"Don't go repeating that, I have a reputation to uphold." Red insisted in a careless drawl, brushing a broad thumb high upon Rosalie's thigh, reveling in the goosebumps which erupted beneath his touch.

"Gross. Your secret's safe with me."

He continued stroking the silky soft skin, smiling when she spread her legs just a hair further. "I take it you don't like men?"

Luli scoffed at the understatement, "I hate men, and you still haven't guessed the sport."

"Field hockey." He announced with a boyish chortle of delight, dropping his hand from his playful pastime.

"_No_," whined Rosalie, whether from his guess or his departure from her person, he wasn't sure.

"Yes!" Luli cackled, hearing her friend's grumbling through the phone, "Yes, that is definitely it. She definitely played field hockey."

"I did not play field hockey." Rosalie protested, damn near stamping her foot in disgruntlement.

"Forward or Midfield?" Red questioned, admittedly stirring the pot.

"Raymond!" She swatted his arm with a handful of papers, which he snatched with a solicitous wink.

"Oh, she's a midfielder, I'm sure you know her love for multi-tasking."

Raymond roared with laughter, "I certainly do."

Rosalie rolled her eyes and went to refill her drink.

"Alright, she's gone. What did she really do?"

"Kickboxing and sand volleyball." Luli divulged, knowing it wouldn't bother Rosalie for Reddington to know something so trivial. "My girl might not have played field hockey, but she can whoop your ass in a bikini if you get out of line."

Red didn't miss a beat, "At first I was a tad disappointed I wouldn't get to see her running around in those little knee socks, but the alternative sounds much more exciting."

Luli let out a throaty laugh, "Perv. I think we've had enough fun at her expense for today, you said you've got a laundering service for me?"

"Yes," Raymond readily provided her with the necessary contact with his own laundering team. "My accountant will put you in contact with a long-term laundering service once we've gotten the current backup of cash cleaned. If that's all you need-"

"You know I have to give the best friend speech right?" Luli could be heard jotting down the provided information, her tone suddenly much more serious.

Raymond stopped in his tracks, eyes squinting. "Which one is that?"

"The standard, '_If you hurt her I'll cut off something valuable_,' sort of speech."

The man chuckled merrily, shaking his head. "Here I thought Rosalie was supposed to be the criminal."

"You'd be surprised, Reddington." Her voice was deadly quiet as she laid down her threat. "It's obvious she's enamored with you. I'm counting on you to keep her safe and happy, capiche?"

Red sighed as Rosalie tiptoed back into the room with her new drink. "You have my word."

Rosalie peered curiously at him once the call ended, "What did Luli ask which required your word?"

Red reached out for her, looping his arms around the small of her back. "She merely threatened to cut off certain body parts should I hurt you."

Rosalie's mouth fell open, "Oh for Christ's sake. I'm so sorry, she doesn't know when to quit sometimes." Her face immediately burrowed into his shoulder with a groan, her embarrassment instant and complete.

Raymond singsonged his head, "I liked her. She's a good friend, and from what I've seen of your organizational structure, she's a dab hand at what she does."

"She's exceptional," Rosalie confirmed, her voice still muffled against his skin. "If you ever want to swamp your empire in dummy corporations, I would highly recommend you have her do it."

Red's lips pursed thoughtfully. The idea was intriguing, but there were more pressing matters on the immediate horizon. His hand reached up to palm her cheek, guiding Rosalie's flushed face to look up at him. "Now…Where were we?"

Rosalie blinked once and allowed the silk covering her to cascade to the floor.

Raymond huffed a growl of approval, eyeing her naked body with a reverent desire. His lips sought hers, parting the petal-soft barrier to her sweet little mouth with his tongue.

A pair of searching hands deftly flipped the catch on his belt, undoing the top of his slacks in record time. The fabric fell in a heap on the floor, left behind as the amorous couple navigated their way onto the bed.

Rosalie squeaked when Red turned her to her stomach, then lifted her to her hands and knees. A shiver rippled down her spine when she felt his hot breath in a steady exhale along her shoulders while his mouth worshipped the silky plains of her sun-kissed skin.

Rosalie quaked at the sensations evoked by his attention, arching her back and wriggling her hips in the direction of what she desired.

The heavy length of Raymond's penis twitched as it slid easily between her thighs. The thick head bumped the throbbing peak of her sex, sending a jolt of pleasure through every corner of her.

Red quickly snatched the necessary prophylactic from the drawer, his mind positively screaming at him to bury himself inside her without it. The very idea made the steel rod between his legs harden even further.

They really ought to discuss...but now was not the time.

There was a wet and writhing woman perched before him just begging to be fucked.

"Please, Raymond."

That desperate little plea set off something carnal in Red which he knew would be a fight to subdue, especially when Rosalie always seemed to love when he lost himself with her.

"You'd better hold tight, little dove."

The warning was tinged with a palpable heat, the ravenous lust which had been building between them since that morning finally coming to a head.

Rosalie grasped the headboard as she felt the swollen crown of his member stroke her labia, coaxing more of that liquid desire to coat his shaft.

"_So wet for me_," Raymond purred amorously, rocking the bulging rod to glide along the entire length of her slit, making Rosalie's thighs quiver in response. "Aren't you just aching for it, Rosalie? God knows I am."

The woman let out a shaky breath in response, her blonde head nodding feverishly. "Raymond, I…I need you so badly I could scream."

The shaky declaration had Red guiding the throbbing head of his cock to the warm hollow of her entrance, the hardened curve prodding tauntingly at the scorching alcove, not quite breaching the tight sheath just yet.

Rosalie whimpered and attempted to push back into his teasing.

Raymond caught her hips with one hand, the other fisting itself in her long hair. "Now, now, my little felon, let's not rush our pleasure. Rest assured, I'll give you everything you need and more."

Raymond had taken certain lengths to ensure they'd both be burning with this particular hunger by the time he returned to the safehouse. He was determined this late afternoon delight should last until the sun was well below the horizon.

His hips tilted forward, sinking the first few inches of his erection into the welcoming warmth. The thickness of his shaft spread her wide, retreating a fraction only to surge forward even deeper than before.

A husky moan vibrated in Rosalie's chest, the ache inside her finally being tended to. She arched her lower back, inching his girth a few centimeters deeper.

"Good girl," Raymond groaned, feeling the velvet heat of her swollen sex engulf him in a greedy embrace. "Give into my cock, feel it fuck you open, nice and slow, inch by inch, filling that quivering pussy till there's not so much as a breath of space inside you."

"_Oh_-" The sheer arousal conjured by his words struck Rosalie dumb, a torrent of renewed shivers spasming along her frame.

Red picked up the pace, thrusting forcefully into the volcanic depths gripping and massaging his length with each pass.

"_Ray_," She moaned, gripping the headboard tightly as he mercilessly chased the razor's edge of ecstasy already building within her. He knew she was desperate for it. She swore he could scent her oncoming orgasm on the air, and Raymond wasn't remotely relenting on the pace, adamant she should shatter into the unfathomable pleasure only he could provide.

Red had just felt her start to flutter around his driving length when a series of echoing bangs rattled from somewhere outside.

Lurching forward on the bed, Raymond's large frame engulfed Rosalie in a tight hold, shielding her from what he recognized as machine gun fire.

Rosalie couldn't help but cry out as the tension inside her was left unresolved. The denial of her orgasm sent a wave of pleasure-pain from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

"Stay down," Raymond snarled, reaching for one of the firearms they always kept loaded and ready at the head of the bed. He looked up, seeing no bullets flying through the tent's canopy nor the floor below. He rose just enough to pull himself from her, hurriedly stepping into his pants and throwing his shirt over his shoulders, not bothering to button the thing. "Stay in here, don't come out until I tell you to."

"Raymond," Rosalie grumbled bitterly, her mind still locked in a haze of lust. "It's not-"

"Stay here." He reiterated, striding quickly out into the living area.

"But it's not gunfire- _ugh_!" The woman watched him leave with an irate glower before getting shakily to her feet and throwing on a thin cotton sundress she had laying on the vanity then hurriedly following Red out into the main canopy.

"I told you to stay inside." The man barked, furious his command had been so thoroughly ignored.

Rosalie snapped right back, "Calm down, G.I. Joe and company, It's just a bird!"

"Like hell it is, it sounds like an MG60." The man turned back to an equally concerned Ted and Dembe.

The latter shook his head, "Too light, it might be an M4."

"We've got bulletproof vests in the locker which can withstand both," Ted assured, running off to fetch the items.

"It's a _shoebill_," Rosalie insisted, looking at the battle-ready men as though they had lost their minds.

Raymond snatched her wrist in an unyielding grip. "Dammit Rosalie, get back in our room and stay there it's not-"

With a quick twist of her slender wrist, Rosalie was out of his hold and scurrying toward a trunk at the edge of the tent.

"Get away from there!" Red snapped, his hand still aloft, thoroughly confused as to how she managed to escape his grasp. He couldn't believe she was being so reckless.

Rosalie thrust her hand into the depths of the trunk and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Without so much as a stitch of armor, she strode purposefully out onto the sprawling deck.

"NO!"

She heard Raymond bellow, and he and Dembe quickly came barreling out onto the wooden platform, guns moving in a frantic, tandem search for the unseen assailant. Rosalie was shaking her head in obvious annoyance, carelessly focusing on the edge of the property's wetlands a mere 100 feet away. "Right there," she sighed, gesturing the pair to her side. "At the edge of the wetlands, it's a shoebill stork. She's guarding her nest."

Dembe carefully lowered his firearm, not seeing any bullets flying though the machine gun noises continued. He took the binoculars and scanned the area indicated.

Red looked on in disbelief as a sheepish grin graced the younger man's features. "…Oops."

He lowered the binoculars and pushed them toward Raymond, who lifted the item and peered expectantly through the glass.

There, just at the wetland's edge, stood a mass of grass and twigs. Perched in the middle of the mound was a large pre-historic looking bird. The thing must have been four and a half feet tall. It stood on thin, wonky black legs which ended in spindly-clawed toes, and at its feet was nestled a tiny, rather ugly gray chick. The grown stork's feathers were all varying shades of thundercloud gray, outlined in stark white and laying in neat little rows. A sharp green eye could be seen standing out against the pale gray plumage of its head, which ended in a large, hooked yellow beak it was using to make clattering sounds like gunfire.

"Ah…"

Raymond lowered the binoculars, handing them back to Rosalie with an abashed grimace.

Her lips were pursed in a pout to rival his own as she snatched the item back. "Yes, well, guns away, boys. It'd be a shame if in your efforts to protect headquarters, you he-men shot the local wildlife my wardens are working so diligently to protect."

She stomped back into the canopy, imploring Ted to put the bulletproof vests back where they belonged.

"It really _did_ sound like a machine gun," Red insisted, grumpily turning to Dembe who was nodding his agreement.

Both men meandered back into the living space a tad deflated, wandering back to their separate rooms without another word.

Red found Rosalie pacing the ensuite irritably.

He grumbled when he heard the shower kick on. They obviously weren't going to return to their previous activities.

Raymond discarded his clothes on the way to the bath. The barely used condom still clinging to his shaft was flung into the nearby trash bin as his companion stepped into the shower's steamy confines, not a word uttered for the likes of him. Rosalie was obviously angry, and Red knew there were waters to be calmed between them. With a resigned sigh, he grasped the shower's handle, and entered the enclosure to see his lover beneath the warm spray.

His eyes softened at her shapely figure, the pristine skin glistening with clear rivulets flowing every which way along her curves.

Rosalie didn't turn around when Red came in, merely continuing about her routine with a scowl.

"I'm not going to apologize for trying to protect you-" he began, inching closer to the fuming woman who was scrubbing her delicate skin with a bit more vigor than necessary.

"I would never expect you to apologize for trying to protect me." She stopped mid-swipe and cast a thunderous look his way, "I do expect an apology for you yelling at me unnecessarily."

"You weren't listening," Raymond grated, his jaw clenching defensively.

"No, you weren't listening, Raymond. If you had listened before you even left the bedroom, you would know it wasn't a gun. If you had listened when I entered the lounge you would have heard it, twice. Instead, you ignored anything I had to say and on top of it all you dismissed me in front of our guards."

Red took a small step back at her waspish reply. She was pissed, and had reasonable justification for her discontent. Quickly replaying the altercation in his mind, he latched onto what he considered the most troubling issue.

"I shouldn't have yelled, but I believed there was a credible threat to us and you were walking right into it." His hand came up to rub ruefully at the back of his head, trying to convey what had gotten into him. "Do you think it wouldn't tear me apart to lose you now? We haven't been together long, certainly, but that doesn't mean I've not grown…attached to you. I thought you were just waltzing out into open gunfire, Rosalie can you not recognize what it might do to me to see you do such a thing? I haven't felt that helpless, that terrified, in years."

Rosalie's fierce posture softened as she considered his viewpoint. She could empathize with his fears, but she also had her own to contend with. Her slender arms crossed in front of her chest and her brow remained set in a scowl while she explained herself.

"I wasn't trying to make light of what you believed to be an imminent danger," she explained, "I was trying to tell you there was nothing to fear. Instead of hearing me out you went all gung-ho. It was like you couldn't even hear me. Do you know how frustrating that is? To have the answer to a pressing issue and have you completely ignore it? You made me feel like I'm not just as intelligent as you, like I'm not just as capable. In the past month you've shown me I can trust you in all things, Raymond, but this isn't going to work if you won't trust me too."

Rosalie couldn't let the argument go until her companion understood how deeply this bothered her. Her head tilted gently, dark eyes blinking imploringly up at her lover, her confidant.

"What if this was a real attack and you went barreling into danger because you were so busy trying to be the hero, you didn't listen to reason? Have I not earned your confidence, Raymond? Am I not worthy of your ear in a crisis?"

Red's argument died in his throat.

His rigid, towering stance abated instantly. He hadn't realized what he'd done. In his frenzy to neutralize a perceived threat, he had completely missed that the answer had been in front of him. That simply would not do. The stability of his empire hinged on his ability to think logically, to remain calm and collected when everything seemed to descend into chaos.

Rosalie was right.

"Of course you are…" Raymond whispered, reaching out to tuck a damp blonde curl behind her ear. "You've long earned my confidence, little dove. I'm sorry for how I spoke to you."

"We both could have handled it better. Thank you for trying to protect me." Rosalie admitted readily, leaning into his hand's gentle caress and flashing him a tentative smile.

A not altogether uncomfortable silence followed, in which Raymond and Rosalie quietly perused one another, assuring themselves their disagreement had been resolved.

"Today was supposed to be a lovely little respite from all the chaos," she finally sighed, "What happened? For God's sake, we're fighting over a bird."

Raymond grinned, opening his arms and beckoning her to him with a wave of his fingers.

Rosalie's warm, wet body was wrapped around him seconds later, their argument all but forgotten.

Red reveled in the undeniable pleasure of arms full of her, lips captured, tongues entangled, the plump softness of her breasts against his chest, the tingling satisfaction of her fingers threading through his hair, holding him to her.

They were going to be just fine.

_Blacksite #17 - a.k.a 'Kimbilio' - Undisclosed Location, Kenya - September 24, 1999_

It took a couple days for Red's associates to locate Fisi and his gang, and another day to make contact. Once the twins reached the band of rebels, they relied on Reddington's reputation to get him an audience with their leader, which they were granted the following afternoon.

Raymond loathed warlords and their ilk, especially those like Fisi.

The world over could believe Raymond Reddington was a vicious criminal without scruples but they couldn't be more incorrect. Red had a strict code of ethics which was not to be trifled with. Children were off limits, first and foremost. Innocent civilians were a close second. He never killed anyone who didn't deserve it. He always kept his word.

The man knew without having met him, that Fisi was none of these things. This is why they were meeting near his location and not anywhere near Kimbilio. It was imperative they keep the tyrant and his rebels as far from Rosalie's people as possible.

The innkeeper had supplied a large cache of weapons to tempt Fisi with, under the guise that once he chose which weapons he preferred, there would be a larger shipment coming. This would, of course, be in exchange for every bit of information the man had on the German.

Dembe exited the lounge with the large tactical chest filled with weaponry. "I do not like this." He complained, his brow creased in disapproval.

"What do you mean?" Rosalie asked, walking with him to the freight lift where the heavy chest could be safely lowered to the ground.

"You have heard of this Fisi rebel and his gang, have you not?" He asked, setting the trunk inside the lift and sending it down. "Ndwiga told us about the compound you built for your employees and their families."

Rosalie nodded darkly, "Fisi has been terrorizing the communities around Nairobi, taking children and slaughtering any opposition he finds."

Dembe's normally placid visage was incredibly dour, his distaste evident.

"This is really important to you, isn't it?" Rosalie placed a comforting hand on his arm, trying to meet his gaze.

Dembe caught his bottom lip between his teeth, his dark eyes fixed on his shoes. "The life of a boy soldier is a violent and cruel one. I would not wish it on any child. People like Fisi continue to thrive because there is no stable, uncorrupted government to stop them. So it falls to people like Raymond, other criminals of conscience. In order to do that, we sometimes need to deal with the devil."

"You disagree with offering him assistance, even if it is to get close to him so he can be brought down?"

Dembe nodded, "Every drop of aid lent to people like him is another life lost, another family torn apart. I do not relish having a hand in any of it."

"I can't imagine any of us would take pride in helping someone like that." Rosalie's voice was reassuring, though she could see it did little to soothe her friend. She quickly added, "We can all sit down and plot the bastard's demise once we have the necessary intel."

Dembe gave her but one small, slightly chastising smile before they were interrupted.

"Um, Rosalie?" Ted poked his head around the entrance to the main living space, seeing his employer and Raymond's guard in the midst of an intense discussion.

"Bugger…Sorry, it's just…There's a gigantic bird in the pool."

"Pinky!" Rosalie chimed, "I knew it." She took off down the hall, peering through the window at the large white obstruction blocking any access to the home's plunge pool.

"Who the hell is Pinky?"

Red stood in the mouth of the hallway leading to their bedroom, his question going unanswered as Rosalie went digging through the back of the icebox, pulling out a carefully wrapped package of fish. "…Rosalie?"

"Pinky's the resident pelican."

Raymond's hands lifted in mock outrage, "What is this property, an aviary?"

"A sanctuary." His counterpart corrected, kicking the refrigerator door closed with a flick of her bare feet. "Everything within twenty miles is owned by me and patrolled by my own team of conservationists, like Ndwiga. The same is true for my properties in Zimbabwe, Congo, Tanzania, Mozambique, and Madagascar."

The woman scuttled outside without another word, tittering her delight when Pinky quickly came sidling up to her.

Raymond followed her outside to take a look at this pelican, who was in fact a little pink.

"I'll have you know these smell _disgusting_," she told the bird with a wrinkle of her nose, tossing another sardine into its clattering mouth.

Raymond watched the exchange for a moment, admittedly rather amused. "That thing is enormous." The bird was nearly five foot tall. When his wings stretched to lift him gracefully from the pool and onto the deck, the limbs easily spanned ten feet from tip to tip. His pudgy body was a pastel pink, ending into webbed feet which waddled when he walked.

"Yeah, he's a big boy." Rosalie cooed fondly, catching Red's bemused expression. "You don't like birds," she deduced, smoothing the feathers on Pinky's head with a lone finger while the animal made a throaty cooing noise and attempted to steal one of the sardines in her hand.

Rosalie turned and evil-eyed the bird, who immediately ceased its pecking.

Red's teeth clenched, his lips pulling back in an expression of utmost revulsion. "What's to like? They're noisy, they shit everywhere, and they have a creepy way about them. That machine gun stork of yours is mildly terrifying as well. I think it's the eyes that get me."

Pinky cocked his head, clattering his long yellow and gray beak in what sounded an awful lot like indignation.

"You've offended my pelican," Rosalie scolded through a tinkling laugh, turning back to the giant bird with a pout. "I think the big mean man should apologize, don't you, Pinky?"

The bird trilled, far more interested the goods in her hand than anything else.

Dembe stepped out onto the deck, beaming at the animal. "Why is he pink?"

Rosalie waggled her eyebrows at the young bodyguard, "He's on the lookout for ladies. Great White Pelicans turn pink when they're ready to mate."

Raymond shook his head, resigned to the fact that he was dating some kind of "Alright, Doctor Dolittle, we're heading out, don't add to your menagerie while we're gone."

Rosalie beamed innocently up at him, "I'm going to make it my goal for you to come home to find me with a leopard in my lap."

"You're a terror." He teased, grinning when she kissed him soundly on the lips.

"I'm an endless honeypot of delightful surprises." Rosalie corrected, throwing a wink his way before tossing the last sardine into Pinky's mouth.

_Rebel Campground Near Loresho, Kenya - September 24, 1999_

Their jeep trundled deep into the heart of the jungle, down a windy, precarious road. The twins had picked Raymond and Dembe up at the mouth of the road, the four men piling in one vehicle for ease of navigation. It took forty minutes of traversing through dense jungle before they pulled up to the meeting point and threw the vehicle in park.

Dembe slapped the back of his neck where a mosquito had managed to bite, his hand coming back with a droplet of blood.

Red felt one sink itself into his forearm, slapping the spot with a sigh of annoyance. Another reason to make this exchange quick, he despised mosquitos.

Raymond stepped out of the vehicle onto the patch of muddy dirt road between him and Fisi's gang.

The small clearing on either side of the road up ahead was dotted with rows of destitute little shanties, rusted petroleum barrels, and a cavalcade of battered and muddied vehicles.

The procession of rebels stopped twenty feet in front of them, a veritable horde of vicious-looking men flowing from the vehicles' doors. From a tall jeep in the center of the group emerged the party's leader.

Fisi was a tall, grizzled man built of wiry muscle and obvious discontent. His face was covered with a short, scraggly beard which made him look unkempt, almost feral. The man ran grubby-nailed fingers along the sides of his scalp, where his hair was braided in tight cornrows. The center of his head was left long and was bleached, which along with his walleyed gaze, gave him the look of something deranged.

The men strode cautiously forward, each offering a curt nod as Gakere and Odongo brought the tactical box to the center of the clearing.

"You are Raymond Reddington?" Fisi spoke in a raspy tenor, eyeing the box critically when Red tilted his head in confirmation. "You expect me to be tempted by one small box of firearms?"

"Of course not, Fisi, this is merely a box of chocolates to ascertain your tastes. Once I know what you require, I'll send for whatever quantity you desire."

The man glanced suspiciously at Reddington, "How do I know you will deliver?"

Raymond kicked the box open with a flourish, "Why don't you take a peak at the assortment and we'll go from there? No need to rush our negotiations. You wouldn't have told me your location if you didn't believe me to be a man of my word."

Fisi and his men shuffled forward, peering into the ammunitions treasure trove.

Thankfully, Rosalie had a wide assortment of everything from handguns to sniper rifles waiting in the house. Though, Red would be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit curious as to why the woman was quietly hoarding that much fire power.

Dembe was visibly tense, glaring unabashedly at the gang's leader as he lifted a large rifle from the trunk and looked it over.

Fisi noticed the look of blatant dislike. "What you looking at, boy?"

"I am nobody's boy." Dembe spat, forcing himself to bite back the diatribe he longed to hurl at the foul creature before him.

"Your boy got a problem, Reddington?" Fisi's head tilted, taking his whole torso with it as he peered tauntingly down at Dembe.

"I believe his problem is you, Fisi. He just said he's nobody's 'boy', and yet you continue to antagonize him. If you can't manage to play nicely with my people, perhaps I'll need to take my wares elsewhere."

Fisi flashed a cheeky smirk at Red, holding his hands up in mock surrender and returning to his perusal of the merchandise.

Raymond made but one small, covert glance at Dembe, trying to convey he needed to cool his head.

"I will need to test your offering," growled Fisi, his gaze glinting with an almost sinister amusement.

Red waved a careless hand, content to follow the usual protocol, biding his time to ask the necessary questions.

The rebel leader waved two fingers in the direction of his men, shouting something in Swahili.

Raymond felt Dembe shift uneasily behind him.

From the clamoring band stumbled a small boy, no more than eight or nine years old, into whose hands was thrust a large jackfruit. Members of the group nudged and shoved the young boy, pushing him toward the other end of the clearing. The child turned around upon reaching the designated spot, undisguised panic shining in his eyes as he lifted the jackfruit high above his head.

Red felt his stomach roil with venom and disgust. They couldn't possibly be planning-

Fisi gestured to a nearby teenager, around about fourteen. He shoved the rifle into the boy's chest and pointed at his younger counterpart and snarling once again in Swahili.

The young man moved to line up directly with the boy holding the jackfruit, loading a round into the rifle and removing the safety.

Dembe stepped forward without a word, placing his hand to the top of the firearm and pushing its muzzle downward. The bodyguard was massive in comparison to pretty much all of Fisi's gang, and the young teen was left looking up at him in shock and pronounced fear.

He continued his trek down the clearing, gently plucking the fruit from atop the young boy's head. Dembe grasped his small shoulder and gently shooed him towards Reddington.

Raymond made no sudden movements as the child tiptoed toward him in abject terror, shuffling as though he feared swift retribution for allowing the other man to take his place.

With a thunderous look, Dembe squared his shoulders and held the large fruit above his own head, silently daring the boy with the rifle to take the shot.

The teenager quailed at the gaze, completely losing his nerve. He shook his head, yammering in Swahili and turning toward his cohort with wide eyes.

A number of them shouted and snarled their disapproval, but Fisi remained notably silent. He snapped his fingers and three men from the group grabbed the boy, dragging him through the crowd and leaving the rifle behind. God only knew what fate was in store for the young man.

Another older member of the group strode confidently forward and lifted the loaded rifle, taking his aim. He halted as he heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet being racked into a handgun, then felt the cool metal rest against the back of his skull.

Raymond had removed his Browning from its holster, aiming it at the back of the man's head. He'd had quite enough of this ridiculous charade. The man turned to Fisi with what appeared to be a careless chuckle. "I'm not about to have your boys pointing fully loaded rifles at my men, Fisi. Why don't you play target practice with a tree or the broad side of a barn like the rest of us? I'm all for testing the merchandise, but I don't trust your grunt not to kill my bodyguard.

Fisi rolled his eyes, gesturing toward the other end of the clearing and muttering a string of commands to his men. A number of them took a gun and headed in that direction to test.

The man with the rifle lowered his weapon and began slowly moving in the same direction as the others.

Red lowered his weapon slowly, jerking his head at Dembe.

The younger man moved stoically as he came level with Raymond, who grasped his shoulder and snarled in his ear. "Take the boy and get in the jeep. Now." The command was a deathly whisper, the kind of demand which should never go unheeded.

Dembe gave a small scowl before gesturing to the little boy, who nervously scuttled after him.

Raymond turned back toward Fisi with a look of distinct annoyance.

"My dear friend has a deep-seated distaste for anyone employing the use of boy soldiers to do their bidding. A distaste I share, I'm afraid."

Fisi actually laughed, a grotesque, raspy cackle of mirth. "I run my gang my way, you run yours your way."

Red slipped his firearm back in its holster. "Yes, well, you see, therein lies the problem. Your way is so gutless and unsustainable. By the time these boys turn fourteen, if they even make it that far, they're too damaged to be of any value to you or anyone else. It's craven, mean-spirited, spineless, and crude." His tone sounded pleasant though his retort was positively scathing. "It's the man who knows he cannot garner the loyalty of other men who turns to prey upon young boys, beating and brainwashing them into the idea that this is the only way of life available to them. To teach them the world is a cold, dark, and painful place with the most heinous of acts. You steal them from their families and often force them to murder their loved ones in cold blood, breaking the last shattered remnants of the child they were so you can recast them into some kind of misshapen puppets strung up to do your bidding."

Fisi pulled a glinting black handgun from the waistband of his pants and pointed it directly between Raymond's eyes.

Gakere and Odongo drew their weapons, pointing them at Fisi and closing in on either side of Reddington. Dembe could be heard leaving the jeep, his broad frame appearing in Red's periphery seconds later with his gun drawn.

"Now, now, Fisi, your ragged band of ragamuffins is no match for my battalion of fully grown men and you know it. Where your army is green, soft, and underdeveloped, mine is fully grown, battle-hardened, and highly trained. So before you go pointing that overpriced pellet gun at me and my criminal enterprise, I suggest you recall who you're dealing with."

Fisi scowled at him for several long moments, eyes flitting between the man and his guards. Slowly, he lowered his firearm to his side.

"Smart move, Fisi, I knew we'd get there in the end. If we're all done measuring our respective equipment, I'm first and foremost in the business of my business."

Fisi chewed the inside of his cheek, "I take it you are looking for information in exchange for the weapons."

Raymond nodded, "You and your men met with a man answering to 'The German' a few weeks ago."

"Yes. He is hunting for information too."

"What information?"

A cold, yellowing smile glinted at Fisi's mouth. "Information about you, your operation, who you are traveling with. Very curious man."

Red's expression remained carefully impassive. "What did he look like?"

"White, dark brown hair, clipped mustache, built like your boy there." Fisi taunted Dembe once more.

"Any distinguishing features?" Red pressed on, shifting the man's attention back to him.

Fisi grinned maniacally, "A German accent, nothing more."

Raymond continued to grill Fisi for information from where he met the German to what the man had been wearing and how he had been contacted. The wealth of information provided a handful of avenues for him to pursue.

"Do you have a way to contact him?" Red asked, but Fisi shook his head.

"He wanted any information we already had, not information we could gather. You'll have to find him yourself."

Red had heard enough. He gestured for his men to load back into the vehicle. "You'll have your shipment, assuming you can keep your mouth shut about our encounter."

"My boy?" Fisi questioned with an almost bored drawl.

Raymond didn't even look back as he headed for the jeep. "I'm taking him as collateral for the trunk."

_Blacksite #17 - a.k.a 'Kimbilio' - Undisclosed Location, Kenya - September 24, 1999_

Raymond and Dembe reached the blacksite a few hours later.

Rosalie was reading on the deck when she heard raised voices from somewhere below. The sounds were low, masculine. Turning her head, she listened more carefully.

It was Dembe yelling. Dembe _never_ yelled.

Quickly, the woman stepped into the main living space, arriving at the same time as a disgruntled Kate Kaplan.

"What is going on?" She barked, setting aside her own book on a nearby table.

"I've no idea," Rosalie shrugged, "It sounds like they're having a shouting contest."

Both Raymond and Dembe came barreling into the canopy like a pair of hurricanes, bellowing at each other at a deafening volume.

"_Don't ever do that again_!" Red blasted, a cold, furious timbre to his voice.

Dembe whipped around with a lethal retort. "You cannot ask me to stand idly by while you complete business with some dictator utilizing boy soldiers to carry out his genocide!"

Red was completely unabashed. "I can, if it means keeping you safe, if it means we live another day to put that bastard in the ground for good! That, Dembe, I can and will ask of you."

"_Raymond_." Rosalie had never seen the two men speak to each other like this. She put a hand out to grasp Dembe's shoulder.

The young man shrugged her off, storming across the living space toward the deck.

"_Hey_." Red snapped, but Rosalie turned with a look which positively dared him to get pissy with the obviously distressed young bodyguard.

Raymond threw his hands up in exasperation, marching to the master suite with a contemptuous growl.

The three remaining members of the household all stood in stunned silence, none of them really certain what should happen now. Ted and Rosalie had never truly witnessed Raymond and Dembe in a disagreement before, not like this, anyway. From the look of her tightly pursed mouth, they could assume this kind of argument was unheard of for Kate as well.

Rosalie's head swiveled fretfully between the deck and the master bedroom. "Keep an eye on him," she gestured to Dembe's back. He was sitting on one of the steps on the deck, his head buried in his hands.

"I'm on it," Ted waved her in the direction Raymond took, taking up his post in the lounge.

Padding along the lengthy hallway to the master suite, Rosalie stopped in the office to pour a few fingers of scotch into a heavy crystal glass. Turning into the bedroom, she saw no sign of her counterpart.

Searching the space, she found the opening to their deck was unzipped and proceeded to step through.

Raymond was quietly fuming in the sunken seating area, perched on the alabaster cushions lining the area's loveseat with his elbows resting on his knees.

Rosalie tread the length of the deck, stepping down into the space and holding out the liquid offering to her counterpart.

He took the glass without meeting her gaze, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid and letting it swirl over his tongue. The pleasant burn as he swallowed seemed to temper his fury. The anger he felt all but disappeared as Rosalie settled against his side, close enough to kiss his cheek.

Raymond's hand immediately dropped to her knee, cupping the warm expanse of her inner thigh and brushing his thumb absentmindedly back and forth.

Her small, warm palm smoothed up the length of his back to rest atop his shoulder, her fingertips skirting the base of his neck in a soothing pattern. "Talk to me, darling."

"I'm angry." Raymond bit back, his tone acerbic.

Rosalie wasn't fooled. "No, you're not. You're afraid."

A crackle of aggravation licked at the man's insides, which he quickly smothered. He was in no mood to be laid bare by her ability to read him, but she did not deserve to suffer his ire. They sat there for several long minutes while Raymond pieced together his thoughts.

He carefully went through the events of their meeting with Fisi, what they had learned about the German, and the young boy whom Dembe saved, now staying with Gakere and Odongo, who would find someone to take the boy in and keep him safe.

"I know Dembe's young. I know it's not entirely fair for me to be this angry with him. I completely agree with his assessment of Fisi, he's a vile, loathsome creature who ought to be put down."

"Yet.." Rosalie prompted.

Raymond sighed, setting the empty glass on the nearby table. "If I kill Fisi now, another more despicable understudy will take up his place. In order to actually disband the rebel gang, there needs to be a long term solution which takes all of Fisi's men off the streets. The children need to be returned to their families where they can, otherwise placed with relatives or given some kind of home. The good men need jobs, the ones with murderous tendencies need to be weeded out. All of that takes time, time I won't have if Dembe continues to act without thinking. He can't go barreling in on every injustice that crosses his path. He just can't, Rosalie. I'll lose him if he continues to be so reckless."

The fight left Red once he uttered the truth aloud. His broad shoulders slumped and he turned to look upon his companion, his eye a tumultuous green. "I'll lose him, Rosalie, and I don't think I could stand it if I did."

Her gaze softened as she felt the concern rolling off of Raymond in waves. She knew he cared deeply for Dembe, and Dembe cared just as much for him. The two had a rare, indomitable friendship which bordered more along the lines of family. They would not fall out over this, but she could certainly empathize with Raymond's concerns. Her fingertips carded soothingly through his short hair as she considered all he had told her.

"This matter hits very close to Dembe. I don't know why, but I'm certain you do."

Red blinked once, offering no concrete answer.

The woman considered it confirmation enough. "You're right; these things take time, and Dembe needs to realize this. However, that's not going make him feel any less conflicted about lending even a modicum of assistance to a man like Fisi."

Rosalie considered her discussion with Dembe earlier, "By letting the rebels run unchecked a little while longer, we can rest assured more lives will be lost, more children will be taken, and more families will be torn apart between now and when he can finally be dealt with. Such patience is difficult to maintain, but you could end Fisi's entire operation, saving thousands of lives in the long run." "So the question becomes; how can we help soothe that spot in Dembe's soul? What can we do to make an impossible decision the least bit bearable?"

"We?" Raymond asked the necessary question, admittedly soothed to find her once again firmly at his side.

"Yes, we. I hate Fisi just as much as you do. Even more so after the tale you just told me. You and I will take him down, Raymond. The right way."

Ted and Kate came scurrying into the master suite so much as a knock.

"Dembe's gone."


	26. I Heard Your Voice

_Blacksite #17 - a.k.a 'Kimbilio' - Undisclosed Location, Kenya - September 24, 1999 _

Rosalie leapt out of her seat, "What? Why? Did he say where he was going?"

Kate shook her head, "We don't know why. He didn't say anything, he just took one of the jeeps and left."

"Oh my God, we need to go, we need to find him!" Rosalie knew better than most what kinds of dangers might be lurking on the road between Kimbilio and Nairobi. Fisi's gang was not the only terror which could be waiting for Dembe in the dark.

"It's alright, I know where he went."

Everyone whipped around to see Raymond rising resignedly from the couch.

"Ted, please bring the other jeep around, we're going to Nairobi."

Teddy gave a curt nod and immediately left the room.

"Raymond, what's going on?" Kate questioned, concerned for the young man now out in the Kenyan wilderness alone.

"Dembe and I had a philosophical disagreement. There's nothing to panic over, but we do need to catch up with him before someone else does. Please go with Ted, we'll meet you downstairs shortly."

Kate uncrossed her arms and left the room with but one querulous look, the door closing with a sharp '_click_' behind her.

"Why do you think Dembe would go to Nairobi?" Rosalie turned to Raymond in a whisper when they were alone once more.

Raymond chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes remaining fixed on the bedroom door. "Nairobi is where I met Dembe, years ago."

Rosalie's mouth fell open, "Really?"

"Yeah," Red heaved a weary sigh before a laugh bubbled up from nowhere, "God, it feels like a lifetime ago."

A comforting hand cupped his cheek, brushing the stubble lining his jaw with a soothing thumb. Red's eyes lowered to his companion's, finding them, as always, alight with warmth.

"The two of you have been on the run together a long time, haven't you?"

Red cradled her hand in his, leading them out of the seating area and back up into the master suite. "November 3rd, 1992. I'll never forget that day."

"1992?" Rosalie balked, quickly doing the math in her head, "You're telling me Dembe was only fourteen when you met? How did it happen? Did you know his family?"

Raymond's lips pursed and his throat closed up tight. It was not his place to tell her the story of Dembe's family. The cold, bloody truth of his childhood was something the young man would divulge in his own time. When he was ready, when he felt as close and comfortable with Rosalie as he did with Raymond himself. As it stood, Red was the only one who knew about the Dembe's past, and he was not about to betray that confidence to anyone.

"That's his story to tell, when he's ready. Are you carrying?" He carefully steered them in a different direction, reaching out to palm the small of Rosalie's back. His hand met the hard metal handle tucked beneath the white cotton blouse she wore and nodded his approval. Warm lips brushed her temple as he whispered, "Your Browning, as well."

Rosalie flashed Raymond a wry smile, catching his swift change of topic but allowing it all the same. She wouldn't pry; Dembe was her friend, she was sure he would tell her in his own time.

Lifting her overnight bag and carrying it over to their bed, she rummaged through its contents to unearth the leather holster for her secondary firearm.

Red considered the leather duffle for a beat, "We ought to get you a hard-sided suitcase."

He chuckled when Rosalie snatched the bag up into protective arms. "_Dembe_ gave me this," she stroked the leather fondly, "I love it, don't you dare try to replace it."

"I wasn't saying get rid of it," He assured with a smirk, truthfully amused by how thoroughly appalled she was at the mere suggestion of parting with such a treasured item. "I merely meant an addition."

He lifted his own black suitcase and slid it next to her bag, admiring the pairing.

Rosalie beamed at the familiar piece of luggage with its glinting brass closures. "Well...I am terribly fond of your globetrotter."

Raymond grinned, flipping the clasps without a word and pulling his Colt 1911 from within. He loaded the clip and slid a couple spares into his jacket pocket. "We'll take a gander once we're back in Paris or London."

Rosalie shrugged into a charcoal bomber and slipped a few spare clips into her pockets as well. "First, let's find our boy."

Two large, rough palms reached out and cupped Rosalie's face. Red rested his forehead against hers, green eyes scorching her insides with their fire.

Unlike Fisi, Rosalie's use of the word 'boy' in reference to Dembe meant something wholly different, something which stirred the very depths of Raymond's being with a palpable thrill.

As far as she was concerned Dembe was theirs. Theirs to care for. Their closest friend. The first, and for a long while, only person they trusted to know of their relationship. He was family.

"Ours." Red affirmed, sighing when her small, warm hands smoothed over his chest. He lifted Rosalie's long blonde hair from beneath her jacket, allowing the honeyed silk to tumble in waves down her back. She held his gaze, passion burning in the depths of her dark orbs.

Raymond kissed her roughly, backing them through the master suite and out into the hall.

_Rosalie's Jeep - Road from Blacksite #17_

The dark road between Kimbilio's compound and Nairobi was pitch black save for the jeep's headlights and the light of the moon.

Rosalie, having more experience driving the roads around the compound in the dead of night, had taken the driver's seat. Her hair whipped around her as she tore along the dirt path, the secondary jeep having no top to cover them. Despite the seriousness of their mission, she couldn't help a small, fond smile.

"This reminds me of my old Cabrio." She sighed wistfully, catching Raymond's curious expression. He had one hand on his hat, keeping the item from flying off his head as they sped along.

This bit of information seemed to amuse the hell out of him. "_You_ had a Cabrio?"

Rosalie waggled her eyebrows and grinned, "1998 Mercedes G500 Cabrio, V8, soft topped, _with_ the diamond-stitched leather seats."

Red had to bite back a laugh, "I knew you were too good to be true...that car is hideous." His attempt to smother his merriment failed spectacularly when Rosalie turned, looking utterly traumatized.

"I _loved_ that car!"

Raymond quickly covered his mouth, which unfortunately sent his hat flying.

The fedora thankfully flipped straight into the backseat, smacking Ted Beaumont in the face. Teddy laughed and passed the accessory back toward the front, waving off Red's chuckled apologies.

Both men were thoroughly amused, despite Rosalie's scowl for the slight against her favored vehicle.

"So why haven't I been invited for a go in your hot ride?" Raymond teased, reaching over to thumb her chin.

Rosalie swatted his hand with a pout. "I had to leave it at an airport hangar in Argentina because you sent Kate after me."

She pointed an accusing gesture in his direction, which Red grabbed with a wolfish grin, brushing a placating thumb over her fingers.

The vehicle eased into silence thereafter, the group turning introspective as the night grew darker and they neared the outskirts of Nairobi.

Raymond recognized a battered old shanty at the city's edge, and Rosalie looked up to see his head whip around, watching the little shed disappear into the darkness.

_Nairobi, Kenya - November 3rd, 1992 _

_ 'I was- Well, I was younger then. Angrier...' _

_Raymond Reddington landed in a broken down dirt patch northwest of Nairobi off a three hour flight in a two-prop puddle jumper with a terrible backache and an almighty grudge to settle. _

_He was systematically hunting down the Taddiken brothers: a pair of Germans known the world over as ruthless barbarians, whom Raymond had foolishly contracted for an incredibly important operation involving kidnap, ransom, and one spectacular farce. _

_The operation took months of preparation and planning. Red was in need of a powerful ally, the kind of criminal titan which would make his competitors think twice about interfering with his affairs, the kind of money spinner which would set his empire up for a long and prosperous reign._

_With these aspirations in mind, Raymond set out to make Werner Von Hauser his ally by utilizing a very old bit of criminal ideology: to make a friend of an enemy, create for them a problem which only you can solve. With that plan in mind, he hired the Taddiken brothers to kidnap Hans Von Hauser and hold him in one of their hidden warehouses. From there, they were to send a $10 million ransom demand to Hans's father. _

_This created a very big problem indeed for old Werner, and for Red._

_Raymond was supposed discover the Taddiken brothers' location and who they had taken. His 'formidable' reputation would precede him and Jünger and Karl Taddiken would release Hans to his custody, safe and sound. He would then personally escort Hans in a private jet back to Lucerne, whereupon Werner would be so grateful, he would hear Red out on the potential of an alliance between their two enterprises, one which would prove to be of benefit to them both._

_Unfortunately for everyone involved, Jünger and Karl were negligent. In their eagerness to complete the job and further solidify their international reputations as heinous, despicable masterminds, Hans Von Hauser was suffocated in transport to the meeting point._

_Upon discovering their promised cargo was now not only useless to their employer but would garner a bounty on their heads from Von Hauser, the Taddiken brothers fled, leaving Reddington to clean up the mess. _

_The sight of that young man, no more than twenty-two years old, laying cold and still in a battered shipping crate… It sent Raymond into a blind rage. _

_He was livid, utterly horrified at what those savage imbeciles had done. Their recklessness had taken a young life without any reason or purpose. If it got out that he'd had a hand in any of it, Werner not only would have no interest in building a partnership, he would more than likely devote_ _endless manpower and resources toward acquiring Raymond's head._

_Thus Red immediately set about salvaging his plans, cutting away the loose ends and killing the men responsible. Jünger Taddiken was the last remaining target, and had fled to Nairobi two days ago after Raymond had come to reckon with him and his brother in Mogadishu. He had ambushed the pair and their newly acquired security in the dead of night at a neglected safehouse near Asalooti._

_Jünger escaped in the scuffle, but Red managed to take down the rest of their little group, laying waste to everything in sight before sending Karl's head to Switzerland in a box the following morning. _

_He would complete the set today and deliver the last Taddiken brother to the Von Hauser residence in person, along with his condolences. _

_With any luck, he would still be able to salvage his plans for a deal with Von Hauser Senior. Raymond's life, Elizabeth's life, both depended on him building an untouchable empire. The kind of criminal enterprise which bore the type of wealth and reputation which would demolish any threats before they could even sink their teeth into either of them. _

_A piece of Raymond's soul thrummed with remorse at what this alliance would cost and the lie which he would have to feed Werner about the loss of his beloved son. Deep down he knew the boy's death was his own damn fault. He should have hired less notorious snatchers. He should have known the Taddiken brothers were careless._

_Hell, he should have just sought Werner's alliance without the theatrics. _

_Yet Red knew he couldn't garner the man's favor without it. He was too young, too new to the criminal underworld to command the interest of one of its most formidable players, and Raymond needed to become just as formidable as Werner Von Hauser, if not more so._

_The sun continued to beat down on Raymond's head, making him sweat and serving to feed his anger. _ _He leaned against the back of the cab on the beater truck he bribed into taking him to Nairobi, hoping to catch a few more minutes of sleep. _

_Red woke with a jolt an undetermined amount of time later. A dilapidated shack passed on his left hand side, a thin woman with a bundled up babe were standing in its doorway. _

_They were entering the slums of Nairobi._

_The shacks and shanties grew more and more run down the further they drove. The exteriors and their occupants became steadily more depressing. Children and adults alike were malnourished, walking skeletons heavy with only the weight of exhaustion and despair._

_They reached the street where Jünger was rumored to be, and Red hopped from the vehicle, thanking the man who had given him a lift and passing him a stack of shillings._

_Halfway down the bustling street, Raymond found what he was looking for. A crooked, crumbling building with a blinking red light above its door, denoting the only brothel on this road. _

_He quickly stepped into the musky, dark interior, his upper lip curling in disgust._

_Women lined the walls of the entry in various states of undress, some battered, some terribly thin, all looking as though any hope they'd had in this world was gone._

_Raymond could well sympathize with that feeling._

_The keeper of the brothel sidled up to him the moment he entered. She was truthfully a beautiful woman, tall and slender with glossy ebony hair falling in a long, elaborate plait down her back. When she spoke, her voice was a warm, sultry purr._

_"What interests you, traveler?" _

_Red considered her for a long beat, his gaze drifting from her toes to the top of her head. "You."_

_The woman was obviously flattered and intrigued by the notion, her obsidian eyes glancing coquettishly at the other women before meeting his unflinching stare with one of her own. "I am not for sale."_

_"Your hesitation tells me you are most certainly for sale...for the right price." Raymond challenged her, sensing if he proceeded carefully, she would bend to his will._

_The brothel keeper bit the inside of her cheek, aroused and annoyed in equal measure. "Five large."_

_Red removed his hat and ushered her toward the hall leading to the rooms._

_The woman seemed surprised at his ready agreement, hesitating another moment before taking his hand and striding the long length of hall with her chin held high._

_When she reached a door she found acceptable the woman immediately turned, giving Raymond a lascivious once-over, her interest in what he was offering quite evident. Her hands clutched him and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him with a fire which admittedly took the fugitive by surprise._

_He allowed the kiss, lifting her lithe frame with one arm and stepping over the threshold, slamming the door shut behind them._

_Setting her down, Raymond reached behind him and locked the door._

_The woman leapt away from him with a gasp when she felt warm metal meet her chest._

_Red held his firearm firmly in hand, completely unfazed by the sudden change of mood. His head tilted to the side and he leveled the brothel keeper a scrutinizing glare. "What is your name?"_

_She scowled at the firearm, seeming to consider whether or not he would actually use the thing._

_He pulled a photo of Jünger Taddiken from his shirt pocket. "I'm looking for an old friend of mine. He's hiding somewhere in your establishment. If you can divulge what room he's in and keep my business here quiet, you'll escape with your life and seven large for your troubles._

_The woman's mouth swung wide, "Show me."_

_Raymond rolled his eyes and pulled out a wad of cash, tossing it to her without a word._

_She opened the clip and quickly flipped through the crisp stacks of hundreds. "Fanaka. My name is Fanaka."_

_"Where is he, Fanaka?" Red kept the gun trained on the woman, demanding an answer._

_"Two doors down the hall, next to the basement." Fanaka pointed to her right and took another step away from him._

_"Thank you my dear, you've been very hospitable." Raymond turned and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him and turning down the hall. He tucked his gun back into his holster and closed the distance between himself and Jünger's room in two strides._

_Red leaned back and kicked the door in without another thought, sending the room's occupants ducking for cover._

_Jünger was in his boxers, scrambling to locate his pants and a weapon. _

_His pursuer tore through the room at an almost inhuman pace, fueled by the rage which had been consuming him since discovering Hans's dead body. _

_Raymond came level with Jünger and landed a hit square to his jaw, sending the man sprawling on the floor._

_The prostitute in the room screamed and ran out into the hall, wrapped in naught but a bed sheet._

_Red lifted Jünger's gangly frame and slammed him bodily into the nearest wall._

_Jünger pushed off the cracked plaster and swung at his opponent, catching him high on his cheekbone._

_Raymond snarled and thrust his arm out, clutching the man's throat in a vice grip._

_Jünger struggled and gasped for air as Red charged forward, backing him against the hallway's crumbling face before ripping open the basement door and throwing him down the long flight stairs. His body flipped end over end down the steps, landing with a sickening thud on the dirty basement floor._

_Red stepped through, flipping the light switch and closing the door with a snap. "You knew I'd find you eventually, Jünger." His voice rumbled low and deep in the poorly lit stairwell, his lungs heaving from the fight. _

_His nostrils filled with the scent of sweat and decay which seemed to permeate from every corner of the underground room. Each step down pulled him deeper into the dark abyss below, where he could hear Jünger's gasps of pain._

_Reaching the lower level, Raymond moved toward the room's center, seeing the hazy outline of a light fixture on the ceiling. He pulled the thread he discovered dangling in midair and the lone light bulb in the center of the space flickered slowly into life, casting a yellow haze over the dirt floor as it dangled back and forth, throwing random corners of the room into stark relief._

_Jünger lay writhing not far from the stairs, his left leg at an unnatural angle._

_"He was twenty-two." Raymond snarled, "Twenty-two years old, and you and your brother snuffed out his life with your stupidity. Your carelessness killed that boy. What the hell did you think would happen, Jünger? Did you think I would just let this slide?"_

_"Nein, nein, ich war es nicht!" Jünger attempted to crawl away, but Raymond placed a well-heeled boot to his broken leg, causing the man to howl in pain._

_"You have created a monumental mess for me to clean up, a colossal lie for me to tell. You robbed one of the world's most dangerous criminals of his legacy, his only son!" Red punched him again and again, blow after blow landing against Jünger's already bruised and bloodied face. _

_The rage he felt consumed him, leaving his mind a hazy blank until he stood over Jünger's almost unrecognizable body, his knuckles bloody and a stitch in his side screaming at the_ _exertion. _

_"Who else knows about the boy?"_

_Jünger gave a feeble sort of lurch, not giving an answer._

_Raymond kicked him over and stood with one foot on either side of the man's chest. He screwed a silencer into the muzzle of his Browning and pointed it between the other man's eyes and snapped with a vicious snarl. "Who else knows, Jünger?"_

_"N-Neimand," sputtered Jünger through a mouthful of blood, "No one."_

_Red nodded, and without so much as a blink, leveled the firearm to Jünger's chest and fired three muffled shots._

_The man's body jerked when each bullet tore through him, falling completely still thereafter._

_Raymond doubled over, his hands on his knees as he fought to regain his breath, an angry tear in his soul making itself known. He told himself it had to be done. Now the trail leading back to him was safely buried, he only needed to deliver Jünger to Werner Von Hauser and complete the lie. _

_Once his pulse was no longer hammering, Red pulled a burlap sack from his pocket and a long knife from a sheath alongside his ankle. He quickly handled the messy business of separating Jünger's head from his body and stashed it in the burlap sack. He fought back a dry heave as he cinched the bag closed with a small bit of rope and set it at the foot of the stairs. _

_It was only then that Raymond took a good look at his surroundings. The edges of the room were cast in darkness, but he could make out a few shelves and ragged cots lining the space. He searched for a sink or a stand pipe with which he could wash the copious blood from his hands._

_A groan issued from the farthest corner, so softly Red would have missed it had he not been listening._

_"Who's there?"_

_No answer came, and Raymond cautiously raised his weapon as he moved in silent steps toward the source of the noise._

_There was a large mass huddled at the base of the standpipe he had been looking for. His head tilted to the side when the bundle moved._

_"I said, who's there?"_

_Still no answer came. Red took another tentative step forward, recognizing the mass on the floor as a body. Two hands were lifted above the bundle, tightly chained to the standpipe._

_He lowered his weapon, seeing the still body was not a threat. "Hey," he nudged the body with his foot, "Are you alright?" Raymond vaguely wondered if it was one of the house's prostitutes, his stomach turning sour at the thought._

_The bundle groaned again, trying to shift away from his prodding foot. _

_The sound was too deep to be a woman._

_Red crouched down and pulled what felt like a shoulder, opening the curled up body to his gaze._

_It was a young man._

_He couldn't have been more than fifteen. He was quite tall, and if he'd had a decent meal in the past month he would likely be pretty broad as well, but this boy had been put through the ringer. He was horribly thin, beaten and bloodied. One of his eyes was completely swelled shut, his bottom lip was busted, and the portion of torso Red could see was riddled with dark, angry bruises._

_"Who did this to you?" He asked, peering curiously at the quaking young man._

_The boy shook his head in terror, wincing in pain and trying to scoot away from him._

_Raymond held his arms up in surrender, "I'm not going to hurt you." The man grimaced when he remembered his hands were positively covered in blood. He turned to glance around, seeing a large wrench laying just out of reach. "Are you thirsty?"_

_Apparently the young man knew some English, because he nodded with vigor, pointing repeatedly at the wrench._

_Red nodded and reached for the item. "Okay, okay, I'm going to open this enough so I can get this blood off my hands, then we'll get you a drink." _ _One swift turn of the _ _wrench had a small stream of water pulsing from the covered opening, which he quickly used to clean off his hands._

_The captive beside him strained to get his mouth near the liquid, his throat rasping with desperation._

_"Easy, take it easy," Raymond cupped his hands and filled the valley with cold water before lifting them so the boy could drink. _

_It must have been days since he'd had anything to quench his thirst, as he buried his face in Red's hands and practically inhaled every drop._

_A wave of compassion consumed Raymond's insides as he filled his hands once more. "Drink it slowly, you're going to get sick if you don't."_

_The boy drank a hair more slowly, his one good eye watching Red suspiciously. It was obvious he did not trust the man before him. He was waiting for some kind of betrayal to make itself known._

_Red looked back at the boy and saw so much of himself, it rendered him speechless for a long beat. So much anger, so much pain lived behind that gaze. The boy had been savagely beaten...even burned. Red caught sight of a healed brand on his right shoulder, alongside a myriad of other angry welts and bruises. The chains around his wrists were tight, digging unforgivingly into his wrists._

_It struck him that the boy had been left in this dark pit to die._

_The two men considered one another for a long beat, both quietly wondering if the other could be trusted._

_Raymond knew in that moment he was not about to leave without him. He pulled a lock picking kit from his pants pocket and met the young man's eyes._

_"I'm going to take you as far away from here as possible, okay?" _

_The boy stared in shock as this complete stranger picked the locks which had been holding him to the standpipe for weeks, not daring to believe he was actually being freed._

_The chains fell with a muffled clink to the dirt floor and he held up his hands, turning them over and over, marveling at the sensation of finally being able to move them again._

_"What is your name?" Raymond asked, tucking the kit back in his pocket._

_The young man held out a large scraped-up hand and held his gaze, his voice coming out in a barely audible rasp._

_"D-Dembe. Dembe Zuma."_

_Nairobi, Kenya - Present Day_

"You're sure he's _here_?" Rosalie looked up at the tall, rickety building with its cracked windows and tattered curtains. The red lights on its awning flashed in the night, casting everything around it in a sickly ruby glow.

She and Raymond exited the jeep, looking around for any sign of Dembe. The latter caught sight of the missing jeep parked beneath a tree nearby.

The dark streets were riddled with boisterous drunken men, some high as kites, stumbling in and out of the equally tragic buildings flanking the brothel.

Raymond turned toward his companion with a rueful expression, "I want you to head back to Kimbilio."

Rosalie's eyes narrowed to slits. "And leave you here alone? Absolutely not."

"I want you back in the safehouse as quickly as possible, the slums of Nairobi are not a safe place to linger. I know he's here. See? There's the other jeep."

She turned to confirm the vehicle was there, but still wasn't swayed. "It's okay for you to stay but not for me?"

"Yes." Red was careful not to grin at her fiery temper.

Rosalie's scowl deepened, "Why?"

He couldn't help a small smile, "Because I'm rather fond of you."

His companion blushed when he cupped her cheek, guiding her eyes up to his. She loved to hear him say such things, but she still disliked the notion of leaving him there without backup.

Red obviously wasn't budging on this, his body language serving to convince her.

"You have a satellite phone?" she finally relented with a sigh, "You'll call when you've found him?"

Red nodded, patting his jacket pocket.

The street noise was deafening but Rosalie's voice was a soothing caress as she leaned in, kissing his cheek and whispering in his ear. "Bring him home, love, and don't keep me waiting."

Raymond's chest flooded with a surge of warmth, her words igniting a barrage of emotions inside him. He kissed her cheek and shooed her back into the vehicle with a promise.

"I'll be hot on your heels as soon as I find him."

Once Rosalie and the others were safely en route back to the blacksite, Raymond turned toward the brothel with a sigh.

He had promised himself and Dembe they would never have to set foot inside this hellhole again, yet here they were.

Steeling his resolve, Red stepped into the depressing interior.

The same tattered, run-down room from 1992 greeted him. Only the brothel keeper and the women were different.

The new keeper was a man, dressed in fine robes and an array of gaudy jewelry. His black beard came to a point, the dark curls framing a set of startling white teeth.

"Hello, traveler. What interests you this evening?"

Red scanned the room, then pointed at the youngest girl in the group.

"Oh, you do not want her, sir. She is inexperienced, s-"

The man was silenced with a handful of crisp hundred dollar bills. He counted the cash with wide eyes before gesturing at the young girl, snapping at her in harsh Swahili.

She stepped forward, her dark eyes nearly all pupils and her body taut with abject terror.

Red placed a non-threatening hand on her shoulder, guiding them in the direction he wished, down the hall and to the right, alongside the room adjacent the basement.

"Do you have somewhere to go?" He asked, looking down at the girl who looked to be all of sixteen.

"We can go upstairs, there are many rooms…" she trailed a finger haltingly along his lapel, batting her dark lashes up at him, trying to do what she believed was expected of her.

Red caught her hand and placed it back at her side. "You misunderstand, my dear. I mean do you have somewhere to run to. Let's say I gave you, ten thousand dollars...Would you have a safe place where you could go?"

The young girl's mouth fell open and her eyes watered fretfully, "I- I do not. I have no one."

Raymond nodded, peering thoughtfully down at the doorknob. He pulled out the wad of cash anyway and handed it to her. "Walk right out of this building and go to the bar across the street. In there you will find two men named Gakere and Odongo. You are to tell them the man in the hat sent you. They will protect you should you be followed, and will take you to one of my people who will help you get a safe job and will give you a place to stay. Okay?"

The young prostitute was in near hysterical tears as she thanked him over and over, hugging him once, then tucking the money in the pocket of her ragged dress before slipping through the nearest window and taking off into the night.

Raymond waited a moment, listening to be certain she wouldn't be caught. There were no sounds of distress, so he turned the handle on the basement door and slipped through.

The lights on the staircase and in the lower level were already on, confirming his suspicion that this was where Dembe had gone.

Red descended the steps, his sharp eyes searching feverishly for his companion.

Dembe stood in the far corner of the room, his head bowed.

Raymond breathed an audible sigh of relief, seeing he was perfectly unharmed. He cleared his throat upon reaching the foot of the stairs, "What happened to your prostitute?"

Dembe did not lift his head, "I gave her a bundle of cash and sent her to Gakere."

Red would have laughed were the mood not so dour. "Good, she'll have a comrade then..." He glanced around the familiar room, taking note of the few small differences between now and all those years ago.

"I know it's hard to see the forest for the trees right now, but if you want to help rid these people of Fisi and his gang for good, you have to find a way to reconcile with the guilt."

"I do not understand how you can reconcile with this." Dembe's voice was hard as steel and deathly quiet.

Raymond chewed the inside of his cheek, working to remember what he and Rosalie had discussed at the safehouse a mere hour ago. "I can stand by my actions today because as far as I'm concerned, not one member of Fisi's gang is worth losing you."

Dembe did not turn around. "You should not place my life above others'."

Red couldn't fault him for his opinion, but he knew damn well why he would always consider the younger man's life of utmost importance. "I'm selfish, Dembe. Your life means significantly more to me."

Dembe have a woeful shake of his head, "I do not consider my life as more significant than any boy in Fisi's band."

Raymond scoffed, "Yes, well, that denotes the difference between you and I."

"You don't understand what their lives are like, Raymond. Letting that man live-"

Red sat on a stack of cinder blocks with an exasperated sigh, crossing one leg over the other and flicking a bit of dirt from his suit. "You're right, I don't understand, Dembe. How could I? Only someone who's actually been in those boys' shoes, someone who has lived that life and all the horrors which come with it can truly speak to what their world is like. _You_, Dembe. I rely on you to remind me every day how I can and should use the wealth and status that comes with being Raymond Reddington to take out rabid dogs like Fisi. I'm also relying on you to recognize when I'm tackling the larger issue."

Dembe whipped around, ready to fire off another retort, but Raymond stilled him with a lone hand. He held the younger man's gaze with every ounce of sincerity he possessed, willing him to hear and believe his words.

"I can put a bullet in Fisi right now, and the attacks may stop for a few weeks...or I can wait. _We_ can wait. You are absolutely right. Lives will be lost, more children will be taken, more families torn to shreds, but we could save thousands, Dembe. Thousands."

Dembe ran a finger over the rusted standpipe. He could still perfectly hear the clink of those chains, could still feel their weight on his wrists, even after all these years. "I know what the long game promises, but it does not change the fact that we are resigning a handful of boys to this," he gestured angrily at the jagged curve of metal, "We are condemning those innocent boys to this possibility, putting the value of their lives below those of the others."

Raymond sat in poignant silence, truthfully at a loss for words. He often forgot how young Dembe was. His intelligence and compassion, his goodness and his tempered soul endlessly contradicted the youthfulness of the young man before him.

He was only twenty-one, just entering his prime. He hadn't been thrust into the kinds of decisions Red was forced to make every day. He was not used to these kinds of impossible situations. The fugitive did not relish being the one to tear the blinders from his idyllic view, but he believed it must be done.

Perhaps he expected too much of his comrade. Perhaps there was another way.

He couldn't be entirely sure about any of it.

"We can't-" Raymond heaved a sigh, "We can't stop them from being branded, and I won't promise you we can save their families, but the faster we set about removing Fisi the right way, the more likely we are to save those few boys from fates like yours. We can ensure they live through it, and we can ensure the rest of the young men in this community never learn what it's like to be a piece of property. I can't promise you more than that, Dembe."

He stood, placing a firm hand on Dembe's shoulder, feeling a sob shake his frame. "I need you to trust me to do the right thing when it counts. I need to know you aren't going to go heedlessly barreling in on every scenario like this, because I couldn't bear it if I lost you. I swear to you I will do everything in my power to bring people like him down and avoid as much slaughter as humanly possible in the process, but I can't do that if I'm worried you're going to get yourself killed at every turn."

The two stood there, glaring morosely at the familiar old standpipe. Several minutes passed before Raymond spoke again.

"I was never going to allow that little boy to be harmed. The same way I was never, ever going to leave you in this basement."

Dembe nodded, biting his bottom lip. He gave a hearty sniff, then turned and flung his arms around Raymond.

Red reciprocated the rib-cracking hug, cradling the man's head to his shoulder and kissing his temple once. He allowed Dembe a long moment to gather himself, then released him and cupped his face in both hands.

"Let's get you out of here. I pulled you from this pit of human misery once...It has no place in your life now."

_Rosalie's Jeep - Road to Blacksite #17 _

The three remaining members of the group were hustling back to the compound in the smothering darkness. The moon was getting higher in the sky, slowly providing more light as the jeep sped back along the path to Kimbilio.

Six miles from the safehouse, Rosalie saw something moving in the dim light down the road.

"Do not stop." Kate snapped, glancing suspiciously out the vehicle's sides as it began to slow.

"There's a child in the road." Breathed Rosalie, her eyes focused on the sight of a small boy standing dead center in the road up ahead. "He's so small, what is he doing out here all alone?"

A weary sigh poured from the backseat, "Keep moving, Raymond insisted we don't linger."

"Come on, Kate, he looks like he's all of six years-old." Ted agreed, removing his seatbelt. The small boy tottered in the road, eyes wide as the large jeep slowed to a halt ten feet from him.

Rosalie put the vehicle in park and stood above the open top before smiling kindly down at the little boy. He was no more than three feet tall and awfully thin. His soft brown eyes winced in the brightness of the jeep's headlights. Rosalie knew her Swahili was not fluent enough to carry on a coherent conversation with an adult, but thought she might get away with her stilted grammar when speaking to a child.

Before she could utter a word, however, the small figure went haring into the nearby elephant grass without a word.

"Hey!"

The clearing was silent, but a chill seemed to sweep the vehicle's interior. A rustling sound began to whisper in the night as a ragtag band of men appeared from the bush, carrying a slew of mismatched firearms Rosalie recognized.

A man with a bleached mohawk of a hairdo and ragged clothes emerged from the group, sidling up to the driver's side of their jeep and purring in a flinty rasp.

"Madam Innkeeper, I was hoping to find you on this road."

Raymond and Dembe left the brothel and hurried to the jeep parked quietly beneath the tree on the other side of the street.

Red slid into the driver's seat and handed his companion the satellite phone. "Call Rosalie, let her know we're on our way. She's been beside herself worrying about you."

Dembe glanced ruefully up at him, "I was not polite earlier."

The other man sing-songed his head, starting the engine. "She won't hold it against you. You will allow her to mollycoddle you as penance, though."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Dembe's mouth while he dialed. "There are worse ways to spend an evening."

He lifted the phone to his ear as it began to ring.

"Hello?"

"Rosalie?"

"Dembe! Thank God he found you... Are you okay?"

"I am fine, I'm sorry to have worried you."

"Don't worry about me, listen, I can't go into detail now but there are bodies in the road between Nairobi and the safehouse. Do not stop."

Red could hear her frantic voice over the line, his expression instantly concerned.

Dembe remained perfectly calm, "What happened, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, we're all fine. We can discuss when you get back. Keep your eyes peeled and weapons out, the road is _not_ safe. Come straight back to the safehouse, do you understand me? The jeep is equipped with run flats, don't hesitate if someone tries to stop you in the road. Just come home as fast as you can."

_Blacksite #17 - a.k.a 'Kimbilio' - Undisclosed Location, Kenya_

Half an hour later, Red was barreling along the dirt lane leading back to the blacksite.

As Rosalie warned, there was a body in the road six or so miles from the direct road to Kimbilio. When they shot past, Raymond and Dembe recognized a familiar head of hair: cornrows running the sides, the center left long and bleached.

It was Fisi face down in the dirt.

He had been shot in the head and multiple times in the torso. Raymond recognized the tattered remains of the exit wounds as being caused by hollow-point bullets, which he and Rosalie carried exclusively. A handful of Fisi's older men were scattered in the brush framing the road. A battered truck was left idling in the bush up ahead, but no straggling rebels could be seen, no boy soldiers either.

Red floored it past the bloodbath, his stomach in knots over what could have happened.

They knew Rosalie and the others were fine, but the desire to get back to the safety of the blacksite increased tenfold upon encountering the scene with Fisi's men.

The pair kept their weapons out and ready, eyes searching for any sign of another attack.

When they were a half mile from the safehouse, Raymond killed the jeep's lights, using the moon to light their way, thus keeping them out of sight.

Kimbilio emerged like a pearl from its secluded glade, alight with warmth and the promise of safety.

Armored guards were at the entrance to the compound, the heavy iron gates opening immediately on their arrival and closing with a bang once they were safely inside.

Raymond threw the vehicle in park and leapt out of the driver's seat, Dembe following closely behind.

Rosalie was at the base of the home, speaking to another contingent of tall, broad, Kenyan men wielding large rifles and wearing bulletproof vests.

"We will be out of the compound tomorrow morning, if you could just guard the inner perimeter until then, it would be deeply appreciated. If you need coffee, food, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask. Rehema and I will have breakfast waiting for all of you in the morning."

Raymond walked toward the group, his stomach plummeting when he noticed a blood-streaked cloth in her hand.

"Rosalie?"

She immediately turned, her dark eyes wide and fretful.

It was Dembe who closed the distance first, wrapping his arms around the innkeeper and hugging her tightly.

Red was left standing horror struck, wondering why the front of Rosalie's shirt was spattered with blood.

"Are you okay?" Dembe asked, releasing his friend so he could ascertain the state of her.

Her shirt had a number of bright red stains on it, her arms and pants were flecked with blood as well. She had obviously tried to wipe the remnants from her face and neck, leaving pink and red streaks along her skin. "We're fine, Ted has a cut from the windshield, though. I'm so sorry, Dembe. I'm afraid I've quite literally shot the plan for Fisi straight to hell."

"What exactly happened?"

Rosalie's lips pursed, "He ambushed us, words were exchanged, I lost my temper."

"Why are you conferring with a battalion of security?"

Rosalie waved a hopeless hand at her men, "I don't know who in Fisi's acquaintance knew he was coming here. He somehow knew the two of you were on the move with me. Kimbilio is damn near impossible to find, but the general location of the road leading to it has been a source of speculation for the locals. He was taking a chance that it might be the right one. Now I'm unsure who else might know he was testing that road."

Raymond turned toward a familiar face coming up along on his right. "I have a group of soldiers in the area if you wish to utilize them alongside your own men."

Ndwiga inclined his head, "Ms. Rosalie is the reason our sons and daughters are safe this night. In gratitude for the small reprieve from Fisi's gang, we will guard her life."

Red nodded, insisting the man call Odongo if they encountered any troubles.

He turned to find Dembe leading Rosalie toward Kimbilio's entrance, a gentle hand at the middle of her back.

She turned back in search of Raymond, who nodded, indicating he would be up in a moment.

Ten minutes later, Red ascended into the safehouse's quiet interior. Upon reaching the main living area, he turned the corner to see Rosalie and Dembe waiting patiently for him on the chesterfield. The young man's head lay nestled in her lap, taking comfort in her presence, seeking out her companionship, which she freely gave. To the untrained eye, he looked as though he were already asleep.

Raymond, however, knew Dembe was wide awake. He was in fact offering what Rosalie desperately needed to patch the newly minted tear in her own soul. She needed to fuss over someone she cared about, needed to feel as though she were keeping them safe. So she sat brushing her fingertips in soothing circles along his shoulder, a watery smile lifting her features as she watched the tension slowly bleed from Dembe's hulking frame.

She looked up when Red approached.

"You killed more than one man tonight."'

"I know." Her voice was a tentative whisper, her guilt at not feeling guilty for taking out Fisi and his men quite evident.

Red's tense posture did not relax"Are you going to be alright?"

"What must Dembe think?" She sighed, peering despondently down at her friend.

Raymond couldn't help a dry chuckle, "Everything that happened today and you're concerned about what my bodyguard thinks of your murderous tendencies?"

"You know what I mean," she bemoaned, "It's different with you, you understand. We see eye to eye on these things, on the occasional and unfortunate necessity of taking a life. I am disappointed it did not work out as originally planned, but...Knowing you and Dembe would be driving up the road at any moment, knowing Fisi would be there waiting. He talked about what he...what he would do to Dembe, to you...I lost myself. I couldn't let him live, Raymond. There was no universe in which I allowed that man to take another breath, knowing he would use it to inflict pain on the two of you. I just-"

A snarl tugged at Raymond's features, a dark piece of his soul thrumming with pride at his companion. Despite her kindness, despite her goodness and warmth and empathy...when the wolves came prowling at the door seeking those she cared for most, the criminal in Rosalie didn't hesitate.

"I assure you I am more concerned as to why it was necessary," Dembe murmured, a gentle hand patting her on the knee as he rose from her lap. "What happened?"

She took a deep breath and began from the beginning. "There was a little boy in the road alone..."

_Rosalie's Jeep - Road to Kimbilio - Two hours earlier _

Rosalie considered the stranger for a long moment, a number of rumors from the local community coming immediately to mind at the sight of him. "You must be Fisi."

"You've heard of me. Excellent... You know, I've heard of your hidden stronghold. _Kimbilio_." Fisi uttered the name with utmost contempt. "Refuge, _sanctuary_, this is what you profess to provide your clientele, is it not?"

Rosalie's dark eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with venom. "How did you know I'm an innkeeper?"

"The German." Fisi's flinty tenor was thin with sinister amusement, "He sends his regards."

Rosalie carefully maintained her composure, hoping to garner more information as to who the German was. "Tell him a real man does his own dealing."

Fisi grinned maniacally at this, "Oh? Like the American you run around with? Does he know you're out in the wilderness with a lone guard and his cleaner? You're making my job very easy."

She wasn't about to dignify his taunting with a response."What does he want from us, the German?"

Fisi's lips pursed thoughtfully while he tilted his head at an unnatural angle, "I'm to take you, dispatch your security and the woman, leave their bodies here for the man in the hat to find.

Once Reddington is wrenched from your hideaway, well, my band of rebels will take great enjoyment in tearing him from his security and handing him over to our employer. I think I'll string up that boy of his first, though. I'll make Reddington watch while I flay him alive. The boy...Dembe. He's strong, it will take a long time for him to bleed out. He could be up there for days and days and-"

Five echoing bangs roared like cannon fire through the night, silencing the man in the road.

Fisi jolted as each round struck its mark, riddling his torso with holes before the final shot fell between his eyes and he fell in a crumpled heap beside the vehicle. A stunned silence swallowed both parties as all eyes turned to the pale wisp of smoke curling from the muzzle of Rosalie's firearm.

Rosalie was shaking with fury, a vicious snarl curling at her lip. She had managed to stealthily remove her firearm from its holster while Fisi babbled on. Her temper had snapped, however, when he threatened Raymond and Dembe. A vengeful corner of her soul roared its victory over the crumpled bastard at her feet, knowing at least he would not be able to make good with those threats.

The echoing quiet did not last for more than a millisecond before all hell broke loose, a barrage of bullets riddling the jeep's exterior in retaliation.

Ted shifted, placing himself back to back with Rosalie and firing off a melee of shots into the group of rebels. He managed to drop three of them as his charge dispatched another and reloaded. The windshield shattered, lodging a small shard of glass into his forearm. The firefight lasted all of a minute, leaving a haze of gunpowder residue in the air.

Bodies lay littered in the area surrounding them, the small child Fisi had used as bait was nowhere to be seen.

Unbeknownst to the two now standing above the jeep's open top searching for survivors, another rebel fighter was skulking from the shadows of the rear of the vehicle. Rosalie caught movement in her periphery and turned around in time to hear a resounding bang and watch as the man stumbled and toppled into a nearby brush.

Kate Kaplan remained stoically in her seat, her handbag poised in her lap, her right arm extended out of the rear of the vehicle, holding a large silver revolver. She turned to the jeep's other occupants, blinked once, and nestled the firearm back in her bag.

"Let's get going. I'm not about to wait for whomever may be following them."

Rosalie rested her chin in an upturned palm, "We couldn't find the boy. He couldn't have been more than six years-old. He was completely alone and- Well, like an idiot, I stopped the jeep."

Dembe gave a thoughtful nod, "Fisi has a penchant for using his youngest soldiers as bait and target practice."

"They appeared out of the damn bushes." Ted's teeth gritted as he was being tended to by Kate. His forearm had a sizable cut from the shattered windshield, but other than that, he was perfectly fine. Kate was already wrapping the wound, finishing the few stitches he required without batting an eye.

"I'm so sorry, Teddy-" Rosalie bemoaned, but the man waved her off.

"You saw a child alone in the dark on a dangerous road out in the wilderness, Rosalie. I'm sure as hell not going to hold a drop of human compassion against you. Though, next time let's have the wardens check it out, yeah?"

The burly Brit flashed her a cheeky grin, but Rosalie was still beside herself with guilt at getting him injured.

She turned back to Raymond, "We need to leave in the morning. I've already called Edward. My wardens will be patrolling the property all night just to be on the safe side. I'm not sure how much of Fisi's cohort knows about the roads leading to this safehouse."

"What about the bodies?" He asked, thinking they would be a bit of a giveaway.

"A few of the wardens are loading them into the truck they came in and will ditch it somewhere far from here."

Red nodded, looking down at her bloodied clothes once more. "I think it's time we get you cleaned up."

Raymond strode into the master bedroom, heading directly to the en-suite and turning on the shower.

Rosalie followed sedately, her arms clutched tight about her torso.

"Come here."

The deep, graveled rumble of his voice made Rosalie certain Red was angry with her. He hadn't said more than a few words since he and Dembe arrived back at the blacksite, either. She suddenly felt she needed to explain herself. "He was going to take you from me, wrench you from the safety of my network. He wanted t- He wanted to kill Dembe and force you to watch. I couldn't let that happen."

Raymond circled behind her, pulling the bomber jacket from her shoulders and throwing it out of the room. He stepped to her front, gently cradling her hands in his and undoing the small buttons at her wrists. Dexterous fingers slipped the buttons of her bloodied shirt from their resting place, baring her inch by inch. For all his gentleness, a ferocious fire still radiated from Red's being.

Rosalie shivered, her body coursing with a spine-deep need to be free of the tarnished clothing still clinging to her.

Red sensed this, firm hands gripping her shirt's lapels and tearing the rest of the garment asunder.

Tiny white buttons scattered the floor and Rosalie gasped, looking up at her partner in something akin to astonishment.

Eyes never leaving hers, Raymond kneeled at her feet, loosening the laces of her boots. He guided each of her feet from the dark brown leather and set the items beside the sink. "I'll show you how to get the blood off of these," he promised, pulling a black trash bag from beneath the sink. He unfurled it and placed it beside him before returning to the disposal of Rosalie's clothes.

She watched in fascination as he gingerly removed every stitch from her person, peeling the small white socks from her feet, unbuttoning the hunter green pants she wore and guiding them carefully down her legs. His touch was tender, reverent even, as he pulled each garment from her and tucked it safely inside the small black bag.

Warm, masculine hands slid beneath the neck of her shirt and pushed the torn cotton from her shoulders.

Once the bloodied clothes were safely in the confines of the black bag, Red tossed the bundle into the sink and turned his attention toward his companion. He discarded every stitch of his own clothing, tossing each article into the bedroom without so much as a blink.

Rosalie was quaking now, equal parts guilty and gratified, wondering if it was wrong for her to feel the warmth and comfort she undoubtedly felt as Raymond undressed in front of her.

"It's always like this," he murmured, eerily adept in his ability to read her. "Part of you insists you should feel badly for the lives you took. Yet your gut knows it was you or them. Part of you demands you remember your own mortality." He hooked his index finger into her panties and slid the dark lace down her legs, volatile green eyes holding her in an burning stare. "Tapping into that humanity won't make the feeling go away but it certainly soothes the tear...Nothing feels more human than a gentle touch, to be cared for. You taught me that."

Rosalie nibbled her bottom lip, unable to meet his gaze. "You're angry with me."

"No, little dove." Red removed the last of her lingerie, tossing the items carelessly out of the bathroom. He pursued his companion into the shower, coaxing her under the hot spray.

Rosalie watched him pick up the little green bottles containing his preferred soaps, trickling a generous array of drizzles along her chest and stomach, followed immediately by his cleansing touch. His rough palms outlined the hourglass of her torso, traced the supple lines of her legs, scrubbed along her slender arms, replacing the blood spatter with cleansing suds.

She held still as Raymond tended to her, turning and stretching as he indicated. Goosebumps coursed in waves down her bubble-covered frame, a sight that did not go amiss for her partner.

"Close your eyes."

Red stepped in front of her, watching her dark lashes flutter closed. His thumbs circled her cheeks and along her jaw, cleansing the remaining streaks of blood from her person. Fingertips swirled the long line of her neck, up to her earlobes, across her temples, along her brow and down the bridge of her nose, washing away all evidence of that night. The red and pink residue slid down the lines of her body to swirl into the drain below, leaving her blessedly clean.

Rosalie felt herself leaning forward, convinced Raymond's lips were just a hair's breadth from her own.

The action made a secretive smile pull at the corners of his mouth, a wet thumb brushing back and forth across her lips before he captured them, claiming the plump flesh which arched like the curved petals of a wild rose to meet his touch.

He kissed her slowly, deliberately, as though they were back at Break Maiden. As though he were kissing her for the very first time beneath that tree with the storm pouring down around them.

Rosalie met his ardor, pressing herself to his comforting frame, moulding her body to his, clinging sweetly to his warmth. She gave it her all, willing him to feel the emotions burning within her. She released a tremulous sigh when his tongue swiped her lips, seeking entrance which she readily granted.

Raymond growled, plundering the offering, tracing every corner of her, hoping to quiet her unsettled heart with his touch.

"Raymond." Her voice was pleading, asking for his hold, his possession, to lay her world at his feet, just for a moment. "Please don't be upset with me."

Red backed her beneath the spray once more, smoothing away the suds and grime to reveal his immaculate companion. The sight of her pristine skin free of all blood and grit made his chest ache, reminding him of what could have happened that night. "He wanted to hurt you, to take you from me." Raymond's voice was heated and volatile as it washed over her.

A wave of empathy crashed over Rosalie, compelling her to soothe his ire. "We're all here, safe and sound. I know it's not an ideal scenario, but Raymond, I'm a criminal. These things happen."

"I'm angry he put you in the position of having to dirty your hands." He admitted bitterly, grunting when Rosalie smoothed said hands up and down his chest, her fingertips drawing circles at the base of his neck. "I don't want you in that situation. I've spent the past eight years building a formidable criminal empire. You shouldn't have to-"

She interrupted him with a shake of her head, "These things can and will happen regardless of how much of a criminal titan you are, Ray. You and I both know this isn't the first time I've killed to keep those I love safe, and I'd bet my life it won't be the last."

Red's breath hitched at this, "I'm not willing to gamble your life for anything. That foul little cockroach who brings only war and terror and bloodshed thought he could lay a finger on you." He reiterated, "You might think it's par for the course for a fugitive, but I don't want that for you. I want you to be safe in my sphere. I want criminals like Fisi to cower, knowing without a doubt in their minds if they so much as blink in your direction I will end them in the most violent ways possible."

"Raymond, that's not neces-"

His fury was instant and complete. "_Our world will learn you are not to be touched._"

Rosalie felt a change in the air between them. Rather than shrinking away, she pressed herself more tightly to him, reaching behind her to turn off the taps. "I know you're angry, darling."

That was an understatement. Red was furious.

He buried his fingers in her damp curls, waves of broiling aggravation coursing from his toes to his skull. He wanted to smother those emotions, their very existence worrying him that his frustration might end up directed at the wrong person.

Determined to derail his discontent, Rosalie hopped up into his arms, effectively distracting him. She wrapped her legs around Raymond's hips and carded her fingernails along his scalp, kissing the man to her heart's content. She felt his posture relax ever so slightly as her tongue teased and stroked him, garnering more of those masculine sounds which set her ablaze with desire. Her lips brushed the sensitive shell of his ear when she leaned forward and whispered, "Take me to bed, love. Let's quiet that mind."

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he growled, kneading her backside with both hands, causing a feminine moan to echo in the tiled space. Red crossed into the bedroom and laid Rosalie beneath him on the pristine white sheets, crawling up the mattress and nestling his broad frame on top of hers.

Despite his fury, he thrilled at being wrapped up in her thighs. Her soft hands traversed every available inch of his person, searching for new and uncharted erogenous zones for her to explore, enveloping him in a warm embrace the moment he was within reach.

His mouth traversed the slope of her breasts, nipping and laving his tongue over his favored places.

Rosalie's hands continued to stroke and caress, soothing the length of his taut back and the breadth of his shoulders, moving on to gently massage the strong arms which encapsulated her. "I'm yours," she promised, feeling his lips wandering ever lower.

"_Yes you are._" Red hummed his approval, his teeth nibbling her inner thighs to make room for his shoulders.

_Six weeks later - Riga Safehouse - Riga, Latvia - November 2nd, 1999_

Rosalie sat with her legs crossed on the safehouse's Biedermeier sofa, her satellite phone in hand and a notepad balanced on her knee. The last expansion was underway, with penthouses in Macau and Taipei opening for business that morning. She had just gotten off a conference call with her newest property manager and was gearing up to call another when Red came waltzing into the lounge, his waistcoat hanging at his sides.

"Have you seen Dembe? He was feeling a little worn down so I told him to catch up on sleep while I was on the phone with Gavin, but I haven't seen him since." He was looking around the room in earnest now, not seeing any sign that his bodyguard had awoken yet.

Rosalie looked up from her work, realizing he was right. There was no sign of Dembe. "Now you mention it, I haven't heard a peep from him in hours."

The pair exchanged worried glances, setting aside whatever was in their hands and making a beeline for the same hallway as their bedroom.

Ted intercepted them en route, "You haven't seen Dembe hav-?"

"No," they responded in tandem, sliding past him toward Dembe's room.

Rosalie grasped Teddy's hand, tugging the man along with them.

Red gave a courtesy knock to the door's face before turning the handle and stepping into the pitch black room.

Dembe was still huddled in his bed, only the top half of his face peeking above the comforter. His brow was set in a scowl and he did not answer when Raymond called his name.

The threesome carefully stepped forward, not wishing to startle their companion.

"He looks ill," Raymond murmured, gripping his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

Rosalie brushed past him, placing a hand to Dembe's forehead. "Something's wrong. Teddy, please go get Kate, he's burning up."

_Riga Safehouse - Riga, Latvia - November 4th, 1999_

"You need to get some sleep, Raymond."

Rosalie's softly uttered plea cut the deadly quiet of Dembe's room for the umpteenth time that day. "I'll look after him for a while."

"I'm fine," murmured Raymond, not looking up from the feverish young man.

It had been just over thirty-six hours since Dembe fell ill. Kate ran a handful of blood tests and determined he was suffering from a case of Malaria. The disease took a few weeks to manifest, but was perfectly treatable. She called in a favor to a local physician without morals who provided the necessary medication to relieve the young man's aches and pains while he rode it out. They now need only wait.

"You're not fine." She whispered, skirting her fingertips along his neck, making him shiver, the armor around his emotions shifting towards the floor. "Come along darling, let's get you to bed, just for a little while. I'll keep watch over him while you get some rest."

"I need to take care of him. I need to be here." Raymond insisted, settling further into the chair to prove his conviction.

Rosalie noticed his pallor was off.

She placed a gentle hand to his cheek, feeling the clammy skin and the burning fever underneath. "_Raymond, you're sick too_." She chastised, feeling his other cheek and his forehead.

The man leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Her hands felt so good on his skin.

"Malaria isn't contagious." He informed her belligerently, reaching up to hold her hand to his cheek, nuzzling the soft, cool skin greedily.

"Darling, you're ill, you can't care for anybody if you're dead on your feet." His actions were endearing, positively adorable, really, but she was growing concerned for his health and well-being.

Red finally relented, begrudgingly allowing her to bully him from the chair and down to the master bedroom with no small amount of complaint.

It was then that he realized just how exhausted he was.

Rosalie gently removed his tie, waistcoat, and belt before grabbing his sleep clothes and pestering him into them.

Raymond's eyes were already half-lidded with fatigue when she shooed him beneath the covers. His barely awake mind idly wondered how she managed to cajole him out of his clothes and into bed in the span of three minutes. "You would make an impeccable dominatrix, my dear. Especially with your little switchblades." He chortled, resting his head back amongst the pillows.

Rosalie pulled the blanket over him with a smirk, brushing her nose once against his. "Now who says I don't moonlight as one?"

Red hummed sleepily, reaching out to pat her cheek in thanks. "I would have noticed," he assured, "I've yet to stumble upon a leather corset or a riding crop in any of those damned hidden compartments of yours."

Rosalie smiled at the impish remark, leaning to place a soft kiss to his burning temple. "I'll save my leather goods for when you're feeling better." She moved to kiss his cheek, "I must warn you, though, my safe words are incredibly long…and written in German."

Red let out a low, rumbling chuckle and settled deeper into the soft pillows. "Mmm, _Fraulein_," a soft smile twitching at his lips. "You'll come to bed later?"

Rosalie tittered softly, "Wouldn't miss it." Her fingers combed once more through his short hair before exhaustion pulled him under and she headed back to check on Dembe.

_Riga Safehouse - Riga, Latvia - November 9th, 1999_

Both men were bed bound for the next several days. Rosalie, Teddy, and Kate settled into a routine, the former took care of her clients in the wee hours of the morning when both invalids were deeply asleep. She then passed the gauntlet to Ted, who managed the properties while Rosalie spent the rest of the day puttering between the two rooms, mopping brows and coaxing small sips of water or broth to keep Raymond and Dembe's fluids up.

Though the women's working relationship hadn't necessarily improved, the pair were at least cordial and presented a united front in restoring both men to full health. Kate kept an eye on Dembe at night and managed Raymond's calls by day, allowing the man's female companion to see to his care in the evening.

Things were going quite smoothly until Rosalie was woken in the dead of night by a distinctly frazzled Kate Kaplan. "It's Dembe, I need your help."

Rosalie hurried into Dembe's room with Kate hot on her heels. The young bodyguard was thrashing about in bed, his body burning up though the surface of his skin was cold and covered in an icy sweat.

"Help me lift him," Kate instructed, "We need to get his shirt off."

The women carefully hoisted him into a sitting position. As the soaked cotton barrier was removed, Rosalie came face to face with something which made her blood run cold.

There on Dembe's right shoulder was an unmistakable scar. A brand.

_Someone had branded him. _

An icy fury settled in the depths of Rosalie's stomach. She had seen mutilated markings like this a number of times before. A circle beneath a wide arch which looked like an eyelid spoke to a horrid, painful existence.

She felt her eyes well with tears as she realized the sweet young man with whom she had grown so close had been, at one time, a captive of the Eberhardt cartel.

"Get it together." Kate snapped, slapping a cold compress into her hand. The harsh older woman was, as always, rigid and unflinching. "He wouldn't want your pity."

Rosalie's cheeks burned hot at her tone, anger erupting like churning lava inside her once more. A small snarl tugged at her upper lip as she leveled a fiery gaze at Kate Kaplan. "Learn the difference between pity and compassion and I might deign that statement with a response."

"Ladies?"

Two heads whipped around to see Ted standing with brows raised in the door to the room. The retort from his charge combined with the sight of a fevered, shirtless Dembe was enough to draw a myriad of questions.

At that moment, however, the young man in their collective arms began muttering again, flinching and twisting from the grip of some terrible dream.

_"Mana?" _

_He called, but it wasn't his voice he heard. The voice was that of a very small child. _

_Dembe looked around him, seeing the squalid campsite in which he had spent most of his childhood. He thought he had put this place in his past years ago. He didn't want to be here. Not here. Not now. _

_An old oil drum stood beside a ragged tent made of dirty, tattered tarps and propped up pieces of scrap metal. He stepped up to the drum, hoping to take a sip from its contents to soothe his burning throat. When he reached the item's edge, the truth came crashing around him. _

_He was so small. _

_Dembe was not tall like the other boys. He couldn't even see over the edge of the barrel to know if there was water to drink. He would not be able to reach over the lip of the barrel without help. His mouth ached with thirst. _

_He took a furtive look around the campsite. The others were all much bigger than him. None of the boys were kind or helpful. They would hit him if he asked for help, not that he could bring himself to do so. _

_Dembe was not loud like the other boys. _

_They were so noisy, screeching and shouting all night long. The sounds would rip him from sleep, filling his stomach with nauseating terror. _

_His mother used to coo and say her quiet, gentle boy would be a poet or a prophet. How he wished he could be such a thing. To be safe and peaceful. No such existence could be found here in this dilapidated hell. He missed her so very much…her kind eyes, her warm embrace. She would know what to do, she would make it all better. _

_Dembe wanted his mother, his father, his brothers...but he was alone. _

_So very alone. _

_Thunder cracked with a deafening boom and lightning lit the night around him. _

_The little boy scurried into a tiny ragged tent just in time for rain to begin to fall. His shanty was made from half an old shower curtain and three knobby little coral tree branches erected at the edge of the cartel's camp. The tattered plastic would not keep him completely dry, but he would not be fully exposed to the storm either. _

_The other boys were still out there in the dirt and the mud, whooping and hollering. The space was littered with trash and all manner of debris. Burning petroleum barrels occupied places on the outer rim of the camp, remaining lit despite the downpour. _

_Long branding irons sat waiting in the flames for any unfortunate newcomers. _

_Dembe felt a searing pain in his shoulder, a whimper escaping his lips as his small fingers touched the angry blistered mark left there only a week ago. He had screamed himself hoarse when the cartel members pressed the burning metal to his skin. _

_He awoke three days later at the edge of the dusty campground, covered by the shower curtain he now utilized as a roof. _

_The others had believed him dead and tossed him to the elephant grass to rot. _

_Dembe sniffled softly in his ragged cot, afraid the band of boys might hear him and beat him again. His small fists brushed the moisture from his eyes and he reached out cupped hands to gather rainwater to assuage his thirst. _

_"Dembe…sweetheart." _

_The voice was so soft and warm, he turned toward it. Somehow the unbearable cold and darkness was lessened by the sound. _

_"You're safe." _

_"Mi bodi de at" he cried to the voice, hoping it would carry his plea to someone, anyone who could help. _

_Raymond. _

_Dembe needed to find him, Raymond would know what to do. _

_Raymond would save him from the menacing gang of boys slowly making their way over to where he hid._

Kate handed Rosalie another cold compress as they both worked to lower Dembe's body temperature.

"Dembe...sweetheart, everything's alright. Shhh...That's it," Rosalie gently consoled the agitated man, who actually turned toward the sound and quietened. "That's it, sweetheart, we've got you. You're safe."

His eyes were screwed shut, "Mi bodi de at."

Rosalie froze when she heard the language. She turned in an urgent whisper, "Ted, get me a phone."

Ted immediately reached into his pocket, pulling out a satellite phone and thrusting it into her hand. He took Rosalie's place at Dembe's side, placing a hand to the man's shoulder and wrist to keep him from flailing too aggressively, whispering in his gentle British lilt. "Easy mate, take it easy, everything's alright."

Dembe's head returned to thrashing back and forth, his lips whispering without end.

Kate replaced the cold packs around him, adamant on breaking the fever as quickly as possible.

Rosalie stepped to the side and dialed a familiar number, waiting on pins and needles as the phone rang.

A lusty voice in a smooth Creole accent came rumbling through the line. "Bon jou, kisa ou vle?"

The voice was that of Rosalie's friend Richard Moreau-Lilet, a notorious rum runner working out of Louisiana. The man did business in every port of call, harbor, and trade route below the mason-dixon line. Most importantly, he knew a variety of uncommon languages.

"Bon jou, 'Shard."

Richard perked up immediately at the nickname 'Shard', a bright smile tugging his mouth upward. "Rosalie Øllegaard, as I live and breathe. I was just enjoying a pipe on the veranda of that magnifique entresol you sold me in Baton Rouge. To what do I owe this pleasure, cherie?"

Rosalie couldn't help a small smile at Richard's smooth, playful voice; it had been too long since she had enjoyed the man's company.

"I hate to call on such a grim occasion, but I have no one else to turn to."

Richard halted his puffing, allowing a swirling plume of smoke to leave his lips. He grasped the wrought iron rail sectioning off the veranda and contemplated the house's french doors.

"For you, cherie?" Rosalie could hear the grin in his voice, "Anything."

She spared another fretful glance at Dembe, "I have a young man in my care in the grip of a nasty fever. He's dreaming something terrible and we can't seem to pull him out of it. He's speaking what sounds like an off-shoot of Creole. I was hoping you might know? If he hears a few words in his mother tongue, perhaps it might soothe him? He's terrified and I'm afraid he's going to hurt himself."

Richard did not hesitate, stepping back inside the parlor so he could hear better. "Certainly, certainly, let me hear him."

Rosalie retook her place at Dembe's side and held the phone up to his cheek, stroking his arm and gently shushing him.

Richard listened intently to the young man muttering endlessly on the other end. After a few seconds, Rosalie returned the receiver to her own ear. "Any ideas?"

"It sounds a bit like Krio…It is spoken in Sierra Leone and parts of Nigeria and Gambia. I do not speak it, but Calixte is fluent, she would know. Let me get her."

Calixte was Richard's wife of more than a decade. She was born in Nigeria and spent her early years in central Africa before her family moved to the island of Haiti, where she met and married Richard. Calixte was highly revered as the first lady of the New Orleans' underground, and like her husband, was one of Rosalie's dearest friends.

Richard moved swiftly through the sprawling home, finding his wife seated in the drawing room, managing the company ledgers. She lifted obsidian eyes framed in dark lashes, her clever gaze falling questioningly upon her husband. He did not usually interrupt her reconciling.

"C'est notre Rosalie," he explained, holding out the device.

Rosalie heard the click of Calixte's ring-clad fingers as the slender digits grasped the phone.

"Bon jou, my doll!" Calixte sighed, her sultry voice soothing over the other woman like sweet, warmed bourbon. "It has been far too long."

"It has been too long, my dear friend," Rosalie agreed, mentally slapping herself for failing to keep up with the couple in the past few months. "I hate to call with an ask, but I fear you may be the only one who can help me."

Calixte turned concernedly toward her husband, "Why, doll, you know I would do anything for you."

"And I you, Calixte," Rosalie assured, placing her hand on Dembe's chest as he huffed and winced.

"What troubles can I soothe, Rosalie?"

"I have a young man with me who has managed to contract Malaria," Calixte could be heard tutting her commiseration on the other end, "He's in the middle of what must be a fever-induced nightmare, and I can't bring him out of it for love or money. He's muttering in another language, 'Shard seemed to think it was Krio."

Calixte's response was immediate, "Let me hear."

Rosalie leaned forward, holding the phone out once more and waiting for Dembe to continue his muttering.

"Mana?...Mi bodi de at" Dembe repeated his earlier plea, his brows knitted together in discomfort as sweat continued to trickle along his temples.

Calixte's breath hitched at the words. "Oh, dear, that is Krio. The poor boy…What can I do?"

Rosalie crossed to the other side of the bed and slid onto the mattress alongside the its feverish occupant.

Once Dembe felt the warmth of another body beside him, he immediately flung his arms around Rosalie's middle, crushing her in a vice-like embrace and burying his head in her shoulder.

Ted stepped forward to remove him, but Rosalie waved him away with a flimsy hand. "It's okay," she whispered, admittedly struggling a little to breathe, "Ok, Calixte..I need you to help me talk to him."

_The campground swirled and changed into an arid plain, dust and dirt whipping away the landscape and the tiny shower curtain tent. _

_The sun glared down on a young man standing at the same slip of earth, looking over the destitute shanties and circles of squabbling, shouting youth. _

_Dembe was no longer the youngest of the boys; he was older than nearly all of them. _

_He was not tall like the other boys, Dembe was now heads taller than they. _

_He was not loud like the other boys, his voice was soft and deadly as a cobra. _

_He was not broken like the other boys. _

_Dembe outlasted them all. _

_He was angrier, cleverer than anyone in that squalid hell in which he'd grown up. _

_"Dembe," _

_His name echoed from the nearby Maasai Mara trees. Something changed in him when he heard the voice's call. The angry ache in his chest subsided, a rustling of cotton reached his ears and he felt a shift in the air beside him. He turned, reaching out for what he couldn't see and managed to grasp something soft and warm. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him. _

_It wasn't Raymond. _

_This embrace felt different, its touch, even gentler. Dembe could smell orchids and rain, could taste the zest of citrus on his tongue. _

_The tender hold cradled him like a child to a mother's bosom, the same soothing voice whispering to him from the hot, whirling winds._

Rosalie held her friend tightly, taking it in turns to hold the phone out for Calixte to translate.

"Kam Om, Dembe."

_Come home, Dembe. _

Dembe burrowed deeper into her hold, "Ah don lohs oh."

_I'm lost. _

"Mi naya," she assured, rubbing his back.

_I'm here. _

"Ehp mee...duya." His voice was a terrified whisper, whatever he was seeing seemed very real to him.

_Help me...Please. _

"Na so, mi naya, kam naya."

_I know, I'm here, come here. _

"We mi fanbula?" He questioned, his head turning as though he were looking around.

_Where is my family? _

Rosalie didn't have an answer for this.

Her heart broke for the young man. What had happened to his family? She never heard him mention siblings or parents or anyone for that matter, only Raymond.

"Taya mi...duya." He clung even more tightly to her waist, tears wetting the shoulder of the shirt she wore.

_I'm so tired...please. _

Rosalie felt her own eyes burn with empathy, "Shh, mi bohboh, mi naya."

_Shh, my boy, I'm here. _

"Mana?"

_Mama? _

Her heart shattered further when Calixte translated the word. She was not Dembe's mother. She could never begin to replace...but he was family, without a doubt.

Rosalie knew in that moment she would always care for Dembe as though he were her own.

"Smohl, smohl, kam om, Dembe...Kam om, mi borboh."

_Little by little, come home, Dembe...Come home, my little boy._

She stilled when he lifted his head, eyes still closed, brow still pinched tight.

_Dembe knew that voice. _

_It was not Raymond. It was the woman. _

_He knew her voice, and he knew its sound meant he was going to be okay. _

_Hearing her meant he must be there with Raymond. Her voice could be found wherever Raymond went. _

_Her voice meant safety. _

_Her voice was home._

Kate watched in undisguised surprise as Dembe's hulking frame finally relaxed into the small woman's embrace. She cradled him as though he were a babe, rocking him and whispering those words in Krio until he was peacefully asleep beneath the blankets once more.

"I can't thank you enough Calixte." Rosalie whispered, tucking the comforter more securely about him.

"You always did pick up languages quick, m'doll." Calixte's voice filtered through the connection, "I'm glad to be able to help the poor dear. You ought to bring him with you next time you're in our neck of the woods."

Rosalie smiled, "I'll do that. There's someone else I'd like you to meet, too."

Unbeknownst to Rosalie, Calixte and Richard grinned knowingly at each other as the latter cozied up to his wife. "We'll be right here when you're up for a double date, cherie."

The call ended with a soft click, upon which Rosalie eased herself from Dembe's arms, tucking him safely back into bed and kissing his forehead before ushering the others out of the room. She turned down the lights then returned to the master bedroom and slipped beneath the covers once more.

_November 11th, 1999_

Dembe was the first to completely come out of the haze, waking late on the morning of the eighth day. Rosalie gasped at seeing him sitting up when she entered his room, a wan smile on his lips.

"Good morning" he said softly.

Rosalie smiled warmly at him, "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so glad to see you're alright." She set the tray she was carrying on the bedside table and reached to press her lips to his cheeks and forehead. The fever was thankfully gone.

Dembe leaned into the gesture. He couldn't remember the last time he had someone dote on him in such a way. He was sure his mother had done so, but he couldn't bring forth more than a handful of fleeting memories of his life before the Mombasa Cartel sold him to the Eberhardts.

Rosalie fussed about for the next ten minutes, getting him water and trying to tempt him with an assortment of fruit and toast she had brought. "It's all halal, I checked. Twice."

"What happened to me?" He asked, taking a piece of toast.

"You caught a bad bout of malaria, most likely from your little trip into the jungle back in September. It takes around six weeks before symptoms start to show."

Dembe nodded, his tone turning playful, "I take it I will live?"

Rosalie smiled, "Yes, you are going to be just fine. Kate has been doing routine checkups on you this whole time."

"How long has it been?"

"A bit over a week." Rosalie admitted, "Raymond and I went looking for you late last Tuesday afternoon because you hadn't yet gotten up. He knew something was wrong and went to your room to find you burning up. He was so worried. We all were."

"Where is he?" Dembe looked about the room again, seeing no signs of his comrade.

Rosalie sighed, "I finally had to bully him into bed, he's got it too."

Dembe's face was immediately filled with concern, "Is he going to be alright?"

"Yes, he'll be just fine, he's probably only a few hours behind you." Rosalie nudged another piece of toast toward him with a grin, "He'll be so happy to hear you're okay. That man was utterly beside himself seeing you so unwell."

Dembe took the slice of bread obediently, "Raymond is a good friend. Who has been taking care of him?"

"I have," Rosalie assured, "Kate and I have been making the rounds between your room and his."

A beat of silence hung between them before Dembe spoke again.

"_Una lan Krio_?"

He shrugged when she looked surprised, "I recognized your voice. I remember hearing it."

Rosalie blinked sheepishly at him, "I called in a favor from a friend who grew up in Nigeria, she recognized the language right away."

"I was talking?"

"Muttering," she affirmed with a nod, "You were in the grip of a fever dream. They can be harrowingly realistic, You seemed-" Rosalie's jaw tightened and her eyes fell to her hands. "You were so frightened, I couldn't stand it. I called my friend and begged her to teach me a few phrases in Krio to see if that would help."

Dembe peered thoughtfully at her, his face holding a look of mild surprise. After several long moments, he smiled. "I have never told you the story of how Raymond and I came to know each other, have I?"

Rosalie poured them each a cup of tea, shaking her head, eyes flitting curiously up to his. "No, I suppose you haven't." She was not about to mention seeing the brand on his shoulder, content to wait for the day he felt comfortable discussing it himself.

She handed him a cup of tea and sat daintily on the edge of the mattress, whereupon Dembe began to speak.

"What do you know of the Mombasa Cartel?"

Rosalie leaned back slightly, "They're tyrants peddling in drugs, wildlife poaching, among a vast array of other illicit activities."

Dembe nodded his agreement, "When I was a boy, my father turned in a handful of their first tier operatives working in Sierra Leone. As you may have guessed, the cartel did not take kindly to that." He placed his hand in hers, gripping it tightly. "They came in broad daylight and murdered my father, my brothers, and then my mother. I was six at the time. I can remember the exact color of my shirt, the overalls I was wearing. The men who killed my family saw me beside the pen where we kept the goats."

"What did they do?" Rosalie asked, her voice a horrified whisper. Tears stung her eyes as she cradled Dembe's hand in her own.

"They took me," his voice held the slightest of tremors, "I was sold to the Eberhardt Cartel. I was contracted as a boy soldier, beaten and bloodied for sport, and after eight years, I decided no more."

A sharp gasp left Rosalie's mouth, "You managed to get out? Is that when you met Raymond?"

Dembe smiled, "No, and yes."

Rosalie was confused by the response and his sudden change in demeanor.

"There was a woman," he explained, his warm, brown eyes glinting with a distant memory. "She was kind, joyful. She taught me about books and words, the languages of the countries and regions the cartel dragged me through. She brought me to Allah, showed me that men are not the sum of their deeds but who they truly are on the inside. I loved her, and she loved me, so we decided to run away from the cartel, separately, and meet in Nairobi."

Dembe grew very quiet, "We made it to Nairobi and purchased tickets for a bus that would take us to Mogadishu, where we would then board a boat to Madagascar."

"What happened?" Rosalie breathed, still holding him tightly. Her breath hitched when Dembe's gaze held her own.

"They were waiting for us."

He took a steadying breath and gripped her hand a little tighter, "I managed to push her onto the vehicle. It was so crowded, I thought the cartel wouldn't see her. I was torn from the steps of the bus, screaming at the driver to go. I fought and fought, but I was one against many."

Rosalie's hand covered her mouth "The woman, what happened to her?"

"The cartel members informed me they caught up with her in Mogadishu," his face fell, "I searched for any sign of her, but..."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." Rosalie brushed his cheek with a gentle thumb, compassion pouring from the depths of her being. "What happened to you?"

"The cartel set out to teach me the price of turning one's back on them. They chained the remains of my beaten and charred body to a standpipe and left me there to die. I woke up in the basement of that brothel without a clue of how long it had been. I was dehydrated, bleeding internally, on the brink of death. I looked up, and...there was Raymond."

Rosalie hiccuped softly, "He took you."

Dembe nodded with a small smile, "The first time I was happy to be taken anywhere by anyone. He made me well, gave me the best education his considerable wealth and influence could buy. Believe it or not, he would take me to museums and art galleries on school holidays. Any corner of the world I wished to see, he made it happen. Then, when I graduated, he gave me the keys to an apartment in London and a salary which would easily take me through the end of my days."

"Yet you stayed? You've been with him all this time?" Hot tears were pouring down her cheeks in earnest now, realizing the full extent of Raymond and Dembe's history.

Dembe leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Rosalie, "I would never walk away, my sister, because I saw what you see in Raymond." He released her to cup her face in his large, calloused hands, "You and I, we see the man within."

Once night fell, Rosalie was finally able to return to the master suite.

Dembe was still weak, but had eaten twice over the course of the day and his fluids were up, so the woman counted their blessings. Raymond remained still and quiet in their bed.

She had been waiting all day to be here with him.

Rosalie hurriedly disrobed, donning one of his shirts and scurrying beneath the sheets.

"Come here, you darling, selfless man," she murmured, knowing he couldn't hear her. She drew his drowsy form into her arms, her fingertips tenderly brushing back the strands of hair from his brow, to which she pressed her lips. His cheek listed into her outstretched palm, seeking the warm caress.

Rosalie's heart swelled painfully at the action, "Who taught you to be so kind? How on earth, with all that you've seen and been forced to do...What has kept you whole? Where our contemporaries are wretched, cold and hollow, you have love in you still. Hope. Compassion...You're still so wonderfully human." Her lips brushed along the fevered expanse of his face, pouring out the flood of adoration she felt for the man in her arms. "How is it, at every turn, you prove to be the last thing I ever expected?"

Raymond gave a muffled grunt as he stirred, lifting an uncoordinated hand to divert her mouth from his person. "Don't want you sick."

"Malaria's not contagious." Rosalie reminded, nuzzling his hand out of the way and continuing to pepper his cheeks and jawline with soothing affection.

"Mmm...okay."

She beamed as he tilted his head, opening to her touch without another thought. "You must be very ill, you're usually far more eloquent."

Red grumbled, his mouth turning to the faintest shadow of a pout, "I've been fighting Malaria for a week, what did you expect, an epic?"

Rosalie kissed that too, smirking at the small smile which twitched his lips afterward. "I'd prefer a sonnet, but since you're obviously on your death bed, I'll settle for an epitaph."

Raymond snorted with laughter, nuzzling her nose playfully with his own, directing her back to her task. "How about a dirty limerick?" He pointed to a spot on his cheek which she had missed.

Rosalie kissed the indicated spot repeatedly, her lips apologizing for their neglect. "I was explicitly told not to rile you up."

"I would like to be riled up...explicitly." His weary smile widened when she giggled for his cheek.

"I sincerely doubt anyone's actually gotten aroused by a dirty limerick."

"There once was fine lass from Kent…" He began, but Rosalie quieted him with her lips on his.

"Sleep, love."

His arms reciprocated the embrace, pulling her closer to him. "Yes, dear."

_Midnight - November 12th, 1999_

Rosalie stirred in the cool darkness of the master bedroom. The mattress beneath her jostled.

"What-?"

She turned a bleary head from under the covers, coming face to face with her bed partner.

Rosalie felt a tug at her person and looked down to see Raymond's hand beneath the blankets, clutching the tails of the shirt she wore in a tight fist. His warm breath huffed in jagged bursts over the expanse of her nape exposed by his tugging.

"H-Help."

His voice was a minuscule, raspy whisper, setting her senses on high alert.

The hand at her back tugged once more, and Rosalie immediately turned into his grasp.

A groan left Raymond's throat when she wrapped him up in her arms, cradling his head to her.

"Shh...You're safe, darling. Everything's going to be alright."

She felt his arms circle around her torso, clutching her tightly as he nestled into the plush valley between her breasts.

Raymond's eyes were screwed shut and a fine sheen of sweat clung to his brow, his countenance wrought with unease. He winced and shivered, the fever which had gripped Dembe the other day seemed to have overpowered Red as well. "Help her. Help-"

Rosalie's stomach plummeted, "Help who?"

"B-burning," He hissed and clenched his teeth, looking as though pain was ripping through his body. "M-my back. God, it hurts. It-it hurts."

She cupped his face in her hands, "Darling, listen to me. Listen to my voice. You're safe, it's not real."

The skin beneath her fingertips was positively ablaze.

Rosalie knew without a doubt Raymond's body temperature was getting dangerously high. She quickly scrambled from his grasp and sprinted for the kitchen.

Kate was just leaving Dembe's room, witnessing the innkeeper sprinting past in a blur. "What's happened?"

"Raymond," Rosalie called back, pulling a few cold packs from the freezer and snatching a handful of other items from the linen closet. "His fever's peaked."

Kate immediately turned toward the master bedroom, striding in to see Raymond Reddington buckled in the fetal position, his head thrashing back and forth, his shirt soaked in sweat. She felt an frigid wave of panic wash over her when she heard his weak, fractured voice cry out.

"Elizabeth...can't breathe" His hands were reaching across the bed, desperately searching, clawing for purchase on anything he could reach. "F-Fire, she...she can't breathe..." His lungs fought against an invisible weight, heaving and gasping for oxygen as panic set in.

Realizing the event his feverish mouth was rattling on about, Kate made a split-second decision.

Rosalie scurried back toward the master bedroom to find her closing the door.

"You can't be in here-" Kate stated flatly, knowing there was no telling what Raymond might divulge about Masha in this vulnerable state.

"Like hell I can't." Rosalie snapped, shouldering past the door with spare towels and a bucket in tow. She stepped into the master bath, placing the bucket beneath the tub's tap and filling it with lukewarm water.

"I know you feel entitled to be in here due to your involvement with Reddington, but you must leave."

She was standing in the doorway separating the bath from the rest of the suite, her feet planted firmly on the glistening hardwood.

Rosalie's tone turned acidic, "Get the hell out of my way, Kate."

"Rosalie, Raymond is reliving part of his past, something you couldn't possibly-"

"I know," she snapped, turning off the tap and placing a fresh flannel into the bucket.

"You know?" Kate seriously doubted this. It simply wasn't feasible that Raymond had divulged the truth to this newcomer, romantic involvement be damned.

"Well," Rosalie was loathe to admit this next part, "Not _everything_. I don't know who or what or the full extent of why, but I know the general gist. Raymond has people for whom he's created this empire, and they are in need of his protection."

She made no acknowledging gesture, remaining completely impassive, which in turn made the woman across from her roll her eyes.

"_Elizabeth_."

The name garnered an unmistakable reaction from Kate Kaplan.

"She's the purpose behind all of this." Rosalie stated with absolute certainty, "Raymond's empire was built to keep her safe. I do not and will not ever expect him to give any of that up for me, Kate."

A modicum of fight left her adversary, and the innkeeper utilized that moment's hesitation to hammer her point home.

"I don't feel entitled to be in the room," she spat with venom, "I demand to be in here because I promised I would do so." She gestured into the master suite, "That man in there and the young man down the hall? Those men are mine to care for. I made a promise, Kate. If the day comes that I am no longer here to fulfill it, you can assert your domain over the whole operation; as a matter of fact, I'll insist you do. Until that day, however, you're living in my world. Under my roof. So I suggest you get out of my way before I kick your ass right out the door. Because right now all you're doing is barring me from fulfilling my promise, from keeping my word."

Rosalie was barely an inch taller than Kate Kaplan, but she knew how to throw her weight around. Raymond had taught her well.

"You might not like me, but I can assure you, it will be a cold day in hell before you push me from his side."

Kate looked as though she was going to fire off a retort, but Rosalie took a challenging step forward, which, try though she did to subdue it, sent Kate staggering a step backward.

"Elizabeth. Screaming. She's screaming. Please. _Please_."

Both women's heads turned at the sound of a voice.

Rosalie crossed the room without another glance at Kate.

"Shh... She's safe, love. Elizabeth is safe."

To Kate's astonishment, the man quickly quietened. With eyes still closed, his head turned to listen carefully for the gentle female voice whispering to him.

"Safe?"

"Yes, darling. She's safe and sound, far, far away from all that. You're safe here with me."

"I'm safe," his hand reached out for her, searching, a sigh falling from his lips when Rosalie lifted the hand to her cheek, assuring him he was indeed there, with her, that what he was seeing and feeling wasn't real.

"I'm safe."

"You're safe, Raymond." She repeated the phrase as many times as it took to soothe him.

"You need to leave." Rosalie's tone was final as she carefully nestled a cold pack at the base of his neck. She was not certain if Kate knew of Raymond's scars from the night of the fire, and thus was not about to remove his shirt with her standing right there.

"Kate."

Dembe stood shakily in the doorway, waylaying any further arguments.

The women exchanged a silent, waspish glance before Kate begrudgingly followed the younger man from the room.

Kate shooed Dembe back into bed with no small amount of chastising. "You shouldn't be up yet."

"You were picking a fight with Rosalie." Dembe countered with a knowing look, obediently settling back into bed.

"How does she know about Elizabeth?" Kate questioned, her greatest concern being for the young girl.

Dembe heaved a pitying sigh, "Because she is trustworthy Kate. Because she and Raymond carry only one secret between the two of them. He would never have uttered a word about Elizabeth in Rosalie's presence if he did not trust her implicitly."

Kate's expression was suspicious and rife with disbelief, "Do you honestly believe another fugitive can be trusted with something so delicate-?"

"Without question." Dembe's tone was one of absolute conviction.

The woman's exasperation was evident as she turned to head for the door, giving the bodyguard up as a lost cause.

"Perhaps your dislike for Rosalie does not actually have anything to do with her."

Kate whipped around with an almighty scowl to see Dembe raising a challenging eyebrow at her.

"Goodnight," she snipped, closing the door with a snap behind her.

_Early Evening - November 12th, 1999_

Rosalie was seated on the balcony of the master bedroom the following evening, having a drink and getting a little fresh air after seeing to her network and checking up on Dembe once more.

Raymond remained asleep in their bed. His fever finally broke the night before, after countless sponge baths and swapping of cold compresses. Rosalie was confident he would be awake and coherent by the following morning.

To her immense surprise, Kate stepped up to the patio door with a glass of wine and asked to join her.

She gestured to the patio seat across from her, topping off her bourbon.

"I thought you were a gin drinker?" Kate asked, gesturing at the dark amber liquid in the woman's glass.

"I'm feeling nostalgic," admitted Rosalie, "My daddy and I would sit on the old porch swing after a particularly long day and solve the world's problems while he nursed a bourbon neat." She lifted the glass and swirled its contents before taking a practiced sip.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" The polite statement held such a subtle burn, an untrained ear would have missed it.

Kate took the frigidity as par for the course, given their altercation the night before. "I wanted to see if you and I couldn't discuss the obvious tension which has been brewing between us since I began moving alongside your group. I can only guess you may be suffering from some notions of possessiveness when it comes to your relationship-"

Rosalie shook her head, giving the woman a slow, exasperated blink. "Oh bless your heart," the heavy crystal glass she held was set down with a touch more force than necessary, "Kate, you think you've got our situation figured out, but I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt you have spectacularly misjudged my character. My anger with you had nothing to do with any feelings of possessiveness I have about Raymond. Though, trust me, I know they're there and I make no apologies for them. My actions last night had everything to do with the fact that someone I deeply care for was in pain and you were attempting to keep me from tending to it. I can look past your cool facade, I can bite my tongue when you're just this side of blatantly rude, but trying to bar me from caring for my romantic partner is a move I simply will not tolerate."

The innkeeper stood to leave, halting momentarily in the doorway.

"I don't need his empire, Kate, and I don't need his protection. In case you haven't noticed, I have an incredibly lucrative and safe world of my own. Raymond and I could go out separate ways right now and I would retreat back to the shadows from whence I came without a scratch on me, my fortune fully intact. I'm here because I want _him_." Rosalie pointed to the still figure huddled amongst the sheets, "I want Raymond, and I don't mean it in a selfish sense. I want the man for my own, to make him happy, to care for him, to continue building a life together. I want to be his because if the past year with him has taught me anything, it's that he deserves the kind of woman who will give a damn when he's sick, when he's tired, when he needs a patient ear. He deserves a partner who understands what it takes to stand your ground when the wolves are at the door. I'm not here as some gold digging trollop, Kate. I thought you knew Raymond better than that."

A heavy silence hung between the women, both knowing they had reached a turning point in their acquaintance.

Kate halted any further retorts, realizing Dembe may have very well been right about her opinion of Rosalie.

"You remind me of someone," Kate finally confided, gesturing to the seat opposite her in hopes the woman would take it. "I don't suppose Raymond ever told you how I came to be in his employ?"

"No," Rosalie admitted, settling back into her seat and crossing her legs.

Kate chewed the inside of her cheek before replying. "Annie. Annie Kaplan."

Rosalie lifted a questioning brow, immediately curious how Kate and this Annie Kaplan were related.

"Annie was…wonderful." Kate breathed a rare smile, "She was warm, empathetic, infinitely kind, with long blonde curls a bit lighter than your own. Where I tend to be seen as cold and rather robotic in my interactions with people, Annie was radiantly, perfectly human."

Rosalie decided to hear her out, listening to the woman recall what looked to be some of the best days of her life.

"It was strange, to love someone who was so obviously all the things you weren't, and to find out, instead of making you feel inadequate, they make you feel..._whole_. That's- That's what I felt with Annie." She swallowed past a heavy lump in her throat, "She came into my life when I'd thought I'd lost everything I held dear. She didn't ask me to be happy or pretend I was the least bit okay. She just stayed with me, through it all."

For the first time in their acquaintance, Rosalie saw Kate Kaplan's eyes water. "Seeing you with your blonde hair, how warm and gentle you are with Raymond, just how Annie was with me...It's touched on a wound I'm ashamed to say I've yet to heal. Every time you've tried to be kind, a part of me felt like I couldn't bear to feel that way again. To feel cared for, to allow myself to be-"

Rosalie's face fell, hearing the somber note her voice had taken. "What happened to Annie, Kate?"

Kate seemed to crumple in on herself. "There was a robbery, at her place of work. I was there with her. Things escalated...It sometimes feels like it would be an insult to her memory, to my love for her, for me to feel comforted, to be happy. When I'm here and she's not." Kate couldn't reason how or why she was suddenly content to lay her grief at the other woman's feet.

Rosalie placed a consoling hand on hers, "Kate, I'm so sorry for your loss. I had no idea-"

She held up a hand, "In a way, I was taking my grief out on you, I see that now. You've been nothing but kind since the moment I met you, aside from that little dust-up in South America. You obviously care for both Raymond and Dembe, and if they trust you, I suppose I can as well."

Kate extended her hand to Rosalie, who took it. "I hope we could start again. "

"Can I tell you something about us warm, empathetic blondes?" Rosalie's expression softened, " We'd much rather see those we love happy, safe, and cared for, even if we're not the ones there for them. I want to get to know you Kate, I'd very much like to be your friend. I can't speak for Annie, but if something we're to happen to me down the road and Raymond were left without...I would hope someone would step up and make him feel cared for. I would hope she would have room in her heart for a good man who sometimes needs to be reminded that he is in fact a good man."

The woman rose at the sound of her partner stirring in their bedroom, halting once more before she stepped inside.

"I have room for you, Kate."

_November 12, 1999 - Late Evening_

"Was it an eventful week?" Raymond asked, settling into their freshly made bed after a blessedly long shower.

Rosalie pulled the sheets up around him with a nod, "Ted took care of the network for the most part, which was very reassuring. Kate and I took turns playing nurse."

Red chuckled at this, turning to consider his companion, who was busy fretfully biting her bottom lip.

"...I learned a great deal about your closest compatriots."

"_Oh_?" He said, "Which ones?"

"Dembe and Kate."

A telling silence met this revelation.

Rosalie reached out and took his hand in hers, "Dembe told me the story, Raymond, of how you found him and took him in."

Raymond's brow creased and he shook his head, biting back the well of emotion which threatened to spill over at the memory of that fateful night in Nairobi. "I couldn't have left him there, not in that squalid hell where they'd left him to die."

"The brothel in Nairobi."

"Yes."

Rosalie kissed his palm, her eyes watering once more.

"What's all this, little dove?" He pulled her closer to him, brushing a tear or two away with his thumb.

"Does it not bother you that the rest of the world will never know what you're really like? How selfless you are, how compassionate?

Red smiled, "You know."

"That's not enough," Rosalie insisted, her bottom lip now trembling.

Raymond kissed her once, resting his forehead against her with a contended sigh, "Rosalie, that's _everything_."


	27. Firsts

_Le Bourget Airport - Paris, France - December 22nd, 1999_

Fifteen days.

It had been fifteen long, lonely days since Raymond and Dembe had left for Kosovo.

After the mess the KLA and NATO left behind in their most recent conflict with the Serbs, there was a fortune to be made in the crumbled remnants of what was once the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

A highly sought after copper mine Red had been pursuing since August had finally come to market, calling the fugitive to the war-torn city. The deal had been sketchy at best; the selling parties and the broker had been forced to go to ground several times over the past three months as the continued animosity between the Serbs and the Albanians left Kosovo tantamount to an open war zone well after the conflict was declared finished.

Knowing the level of danger involved with this particular acquisition, Raymond had opted he and Dembe go alone.

Rosalie took the time to finalize the last round of expansions within her network, personally overseeing the final preparations for the three remaining locales in Santiago, Canouan, and Chicago. She stopped to visit her mother, giving Teddy a much deserved break as she made the familiar voyage back to the Northern Hemisphere, laying low in the states for a couple of days before returning to Paris for a long weekend with the Armels.

As was her custom leading up to the holidays, Rosalie took Marietta for three days to pamper her and shop the length of Rue Saint Honoré. The pair had enjoyed the trip immensely, spending their last day together at one of the most exclusive spas in the Parisian underground before finishing with afternoon tea at Ladureé, where they leisurely discussed the events of the upcoming week.

The Armels typically spent their days at their sprawling estate on Corsica; however, when the opportunity presented itself, the boss and first lady of the Corsican mafia thoroughly enjoyed hosting friends and associates at their château in Céret. Raymond and Dembe would be joining them this year for Christmas in the south of France, an event both Marietta and Rosalie had been quietly looking forward to for weeks.

The latter had waited until her companion was boarding his flight to Kosovo before nervously asking if he and Dembe had plans for the holidays. When he answered in the negative, Rosalie immediately followed with a blurted invitation to spend the holidays with her at the Armel estate.

The hastily uttered invite had set off a chain reaction, turning most of Rosalie's face a soft pink and forcing her eyes to the jet's plush carpet, which just amused the hell out of Red.

This was their first major holiday as a couple, and both fugitives were rather unaccustomed to navigating such pedestrian waters. Organized crime was the pair's bailiwick, not family holidays. Though, as Rosalie pointed out, how normal could a Christmas with the French mob really be?

Dembe had readily accepted the invitation, grinning when his friend's face lit with a radiant smile. Raymond, on the other hand, had taken great enjoyment out of making her squirm for several long seconds before confirming he too would be there with bells on.

Early afternoon arrived quickly in the eighth arrondissement, and the women soon parted for Le Bourget, one boarding her jet while the other waited patiently for her companions to arrive.

Excitement welled up in Rosalie ten minutes later, threatening to spill over at the sight of a familiar Gulfstream touching down on the tarmac.

Raymond could be seen peering out of the window beside his usual seat, a pair of gold sunglasses shielding his eyes.

The two waved cheerily to one another while the bird taxied off the runway.

Inside the cabin, Red couldn't help but stare at his bundled up companion. Rosalie looked stunning in an oxblood wool trench, her long hair freshly coiffed from a day at the spa with Marietta. She beamed a brilliant smile just for him from her place beside a glinting black Rolls Royce.

The automobile was a tad ostentatious, but its appearance had precious little to do with Rosalie's personal preferences and everything to do with her connection to Florian Armel. The old mobster always had the bulletproof tank of a vehicle waiting at the base of Red's plane when they landed in France. Rosalie's relationship with the Armels made her a natural target for a variety of enemies, thus Florian never failed to provide his adopted daughter and her companions with a rolling safety net whenever they were in the country.

Raymond flashed a boyish grin when he descended the steps, a blur of blonde and burgundy leaping into his arms the moment he reached the ground.

He felt her slip his hat from his pate, replacing the warm felt with gentle fingertips threading through his short hair.

"I missed the hell out of you, Raymond Reddington."

A warm chuckle erupted from Red's chest, his arms wrapping instinctively around the little bundle and squeezing until she let out a delighted sigh, her lips a hair's breadth from his own.

"Little dove, you have no idea..."

They kissed for the first time in weeks, chaste at first, working in tandem to kindle that white-hot passion which ignited so easily between them.

Rosalie nibbled his bottom lip, coaxing a moan to his throat as she swirled her nails in languid circles along his scalp.

Raymond responded in kind, reaching to cup her cheek and demand entrance to that delicate mouth.

His companion relented with a husky whine of approval, her tongue tangling happily with his.

Kissing her dizzy, Red set her back on the ground, hands smoothing over her shapely figure while they caught their breath.

Rosalie peeked around his shoulder, blinking dazedly at the sight of his jet taxiing back down the runway. "Wait, where's Dembe?"

"He's running an errand for me in London," Raymond explained, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Edward's going to pick him up and we'll meet them on the jet tomorrow for the flight to Céret."

Rosalie pensively stroked the dark fabric of his scarf, "So...I've got you all to myself tonight?"

Red laughed and ushered her toward the car. "That you do. I also have a little surprise in store." He held out his hand, silently requesting the car keys.

"Oh?" Rosalie's head tilted in question, but her companion wasn't letting on to what his plans were.

Raymond opened the passenger door for her, "I told you it's a surprise. After you, my dear."

Rosalie patted his cheek and dropped the keys into his outstretched palm before sliding into the vehicle's warm interior.

Raymond slid into the driver's seat and tore out of the airport moments later and made directly for the Place des Voges.

_4th Arrondissement - Paris, France_

Tiny flecks of ice and rain had just begun to pelt the windshield when Red made the turn into an underground carpark.

"This isn't my safehouse…" Rosalie took in the dark surroundings with a surge of curiosity.

"No, it's not." Red deftly removed his tie, knotted the item in a loose loop, and reached to slip it over his companion's eyes.

Rosalie allowed the action for but one glance of suspicious amusement.

Once her eyes were covered, Raymond exited the car, hoisting their bags from the trunk and gingerly leading his companion from the passenger seat.

They steadily made their way into the base of the building, where Rosalie heard the opening and closing of a heavy door followed by the sliding of what sounded like a metal gate.

The floor began to vibrate beneath their feet, alerting her to the fact they were in an elevator.

She felt the stubble of Raymond's chin tickle her skin as he kissed her cheeks, the curvature of her jaw, the very tip of her nose, tormenting her with just how close he could get to her lips without making contact.

Rosalie shivered in his grasp, searching blindly for his affection.

"Who'd have thought you'd get this hot and bothered over a little blindfold?" His tone was impish, his warm breath fanning over her cheek.

Rosalie pouted, feeling him skirt his lips away from hers once more as the elevator jolted to a halt. "You're a cruel tease, Raymond Reddington."

The man in question could be heard laughing quietly to himself. A set of keys jingled before being slid into a heavy lock and flipping the tumblers within. He slowly guided them into the next room, setting their belongings aside before closing and locking the door once more.

"Perhaps you'll let me make it up to you."

Rosalie felt his broad frame press against her back, warm palms smoothing along the front of her coat to slip the dark buttons from their place. The heavy trench slid easily from her shoulders, revealing an impeccably soft cashmere dress Red hadn't seen since their week in Norway.

"Oh hello there," he crooned, dropping his mouth to her exposed clavicle. "I've been wondering when I would see this little number again."

Rosalie giggled, her hand slipping up to card through the short hairs at the back of his neck, keeping him close. "I thought you might enjoy a repeat performance, though I'm afraid the weather's too poor for another al fresco romp amongst the wildflowers."

A dark chuckle hummed from his lips to her nape, sending a fresh rush of goosebumps down her frame. Raymond halted when his nose brushed the soft skin beneath her earlobe, catching an unrecognized scent lingering there.

"Mmm...Is that new?"

Rosalie nodded, leaning into his nuzzling. "I've been wanting to try something different. Marietta and I stopped at that lovely little parfumerie you recommended."

"Frédéric outdid himself on this one..." Red circled the tip of his nose lazily along the warm expanse of her neck, thoroughly enjoying the act of inundating himself with the new bouquet which blended so beautifully against her skin.

He kissed her cheek and finally slipped the silk tie from its perch, watching on pins and needles while Rosalie's dark eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the change in light.

They were in a stone entryway of what appeared to be an apartment. A long, slender hallway stretched before them, leading toward what looked to be main living space.

Rosalie stepped cautiously forward, her gaze immediately drawn to a number of black and white photographs lining the walls of the wainscoting-clad hall. The pictures were a mix of old and new, a man in military dress stood beside a snapshot of Raymond and Vinny Gigante, a polaroid of a young girl hung next to what looked like an old family portrait, which hung next to a familiar photo of a blonde woman and a little girl in a swing. Raymond beamed back at her from a handful of frames alongside other familiar faces. Kate, Stratos, even Baz smiled from one. Dembe featured in his fair share, even his graduation photo hung prominently amongst the bunch.

The woman halted when she came upon the last two photos, both containing her and Raymond, and only one of which she remembered being taken.

The photo on the right hand side of the hallway was of Rosalie nestled happily between Red and Dembe in front of an ornate yurt in Kathmandu. The sight brought a bright smile to her lips, recalling that day with overwhelming fondness. The photo's compatriot across the hall, however, made her eyes water with recognition.

She reached out to run her fingertips along the frame of a black and white photo showing Raymond and Rosalie dancing on the roof of her New York safehouse, bundled up to ward off the cold, a lone firework illuminating the background.

Red watched her with unguarded affection as she recognized what happened shortly after that photo was taken. "Dembe managed to sneak back out to the veranda," he murmured, "He thought we might like to remember that night."

Rosalie nodded, staring at the photograph for a long moment before reaching for Raymond's hand.

He took it and gently nudged her further into the home, practically bouncing with excitement.

The historic apartment sprawled before them in either direction. An inviting glow shone out of an antique chandelier dangling from the weathered, wood beam ceiling, showering the home in a golden glimmer. The hallway lead directly into a sumptuous open sitting room where a plush sofa and two luxurious armchairs sat perpendicular to a pale stone fireplace. A lively fire crackled in the hearth, filling the home with warmth. The wide planked wood floors all bore intricately detailed Persian carpets, one lengthy runner leading down the opposite hall to an immaculate chef's kitchen.

"I know I mentioned L'Ambroisie and Caveau de la Huchette for tonight," Raymond's voice dropped to a low, intimate rumble against her ear, "but it's the holidays, both venues are going to be packed, incredibly noisy...and I find myself unwilling to share you with anyone. I thought we could enjoy a quiet night at my pied-à-terre instead?"

Rosalie turned to gawk at him, "This is _your_ place?"

He nodded, observing the space with obvious fondness. "We're on the top floor of the Hôtel du Pavillon du Rois, overlooking the Place des Voges. I purchased this apartment and the one next to it three years ago, took out the walls separating them and created this; a hidden haven." He pointed to the massive windows slanting up to the soaring ceilings more than twenty feet above them. "You can't see it now because it's sleeting, but there's usually an ocean of sunlight pouring just through there. It's truly exquisite."

"Raymond, I..." Rosalie turned in a slow circle, taking in the width and breadth of the beautiful old home.

A heavy crystal vase stood on a nearby table, bursting with a beautiful floral arrangement. The mantels all held lush swaths of evergreen garland with stunning white roses and crimson berries nestled amongst their fronds. The windowsills were capped on either end with tall cylinder candles, their flames casting a flickering ambient light here and there. The space was a beautiful, cozy paradise.

Red chewed the inside of his cheek, "If you'd rather we stayed at your safehouse, we can certainly-"

She whipped around, her expression perfectly bereft. "What? _No_! Are you kidding? Ray, I love it."

"You do?" He couldn't help the audible note of pleasant surprise which colored the question. "I actually have a handful of personal hideaways all over the globe. Your baroque townhouse in the 6th arrondissement is truthfully magnificent...we're a couple, and couples occasionally stay over at one another's abodes. I thought it might be nice for us to stay at mine for once."

Rosalie beamed up at him, stepping into his sphere and wrapping herself around his torso. "You're asking me to stay over at your place."

He continued to explain himself, the words tumbling out without poise. "Yes. Well- What I mean to say," Raymond blanched at his lack of decorum. He really had planned for this to be a scant more eloquent. "You and I so rarely get to enjoy the peaceful simplicity of our relationship. I thought it would be great fun to have a night where we could be like every other couple. A candle-lit dinner, a few good records, a roaring fire, the twinkling lights of Paris in the windows… I even had a tree brought up we can decorate if you wish-"

The grin on Rosalie's lips widened further, a lone fingertip coming to rest against Red's lips, ceasing his rambling. "I love it. Nobody's ever done something like this for me. Ever. It's a very sweet, very thoughtful idea, Raymond."

The man's taut posture relaxed visibly at her words, exceptionally pleased she was receptive to the idea.

Her finger drifted from his lips to his chin, down to his chest, flicking open the top button of his shirt. She held him in a burning gaze as two more buttons were wriggled loose. "A tree, hmm? So, you're inviting me to stay over _and_ deck your halls?"

Raymond sniggered, using his index finger to tug the neat bow holding her dress closed, blazing green eyes drifting hungrily along her figure as it was bared to him. "Something like that…"

The pair were soon stumbling toward the bedroom, mouths preoccupied, hands tearing garments asunder, leaving a river of silk, wool, and cashmere scattered in their wake.

Red watched with heated intrigue as Rosalie crawled onto the plush expanse of the master suite's massive bed upon their arrival, the soft ivory sheets contrasting beautifully with her honeyed curls as she arched tantalizingly, allowing his eyes to wander.

"Is this what you had in mind when you planned this little getaway? " She purred, the sound laced with mischief and lust. Slender digits trailed up her sternum to circle the beautiful swell of her breasts for his viewing pleasure.

Raymond's response was deep and graveled enough to soak the little slip of lace covering her sex. "My plan is to leave you knock-kneed and spent, little dove"

The brazen retort silenced any further displays of bravado from his companion, her sweet little face tilting upward with equal parts excitement and trepidation, knowing full well he would more than deliver on such a promise.

Rosalie lifted herself from the bed's surface, moving to kneel at its edge, directly in front of Red. Her arms draped themselves around his neck, presenting her willing body to his touch.

A deep moan of desire assured the woman her lover was just as eager to be with her as she was to be with him. Soft lips murmured the truth against the curve where her neck and shoulders met. Rough, masculine hands trailed down her back to knead her hips, leading her to Raymond's way of thinking.

Her own hands roamed the expanse of his back and shoulders with relish, leaving no part of the man untouched. Rosalie loved having him back in her arms, feeling his broad chest pillowed against her breasts and coaxing all manner of pleasurable sounds from his throat.

Without warning, his hands dropped to the backs of her knees, tipping Rosalie onto her back with a surprised squeak. Red grinned when she crossed her legs in the air, impishly attempting to deny him access. Much to her delight, he was undeterred, proceeding to nestle his pelvis intimately against hers, the hard bulge beneath his boxers pressing insistently against her core.

Raymond kissed his way down her legs, impossibly silky smooth after her day at the spa. He turned his head and nipped playfully at the slender ankles which now rested on his shoulders.

His companion giggled and sighed, trying to wriggle away from his wandering mouth.

Red chuckled, ghosting fingertips along her hips and the backs of her thighs and yanking her flush with him once more. "I missed hearing that little laugh, having you wrapped around me, feeling your warmth." His fingertips slipped beneath the delicate lace of her panties, guiding the tiny scrap of fabric around the ample curve of her backside then up, up the long line of her legs before flicking it carelessly across the room, leaving Rosalie blissfully nude beneath him.

Her eyes softened as he continued his slow perusal of her person, his touch utterly reverent in its gentle caress.

She had missed him terribly.

The way Raymond made love to her was something Rosalie deeply cherished, something which she had longed for the moment he left for Kosovo. Even more than their physical compatibility, Rosalie had missed his companionship; the bond they had been painstakingly building moment by moment for over a year. The very foundation of their life together was built on that bond. Not being able to physically feel its presence for two weeks had been rather heartbreaking, truth be told.

Her hands moved to mingle with his, stroking the burly length of his forearms before threading her fingers through his. She wondered if he had felt the same aching loss in her absence.

"I need you little dove," Red confessed in a heated whisper, "I'd forgotten just how lonely this life can be."

Rosalie brought his hand to her cheek, turning to kiss his palm while his other hand dipped to tease the apex of her thighs.

"I hated traveling separately, let's-_Oh_," her breath caught as he found a particularly sensitive spot, circling it deftly until her back arched off of the bed. "Let's not make this whole separate countries thing a habit."

A deep rumble of amusement vibrated against the backs of her legs where they rested against his chest. "My God, I love it when I get your breath to hitch like that."

Rosalie kissed the pad of his thumb as it brushed soothingly along the corner of her mouth, "Raymond, I _ache_ for you."

A throaty growl flowed from the man's chest when she took the digit between full, rosy lips, applying just enough suction to drive him out of his mind.

"You are a persuasive little thing," he conceded, pushing his boxers down to free his rigid length.

Rosalie mewed and reached to caress the thick appendage with fond fingers. She smiled at the guttural hiss which escaped her companion at her stroking, his hips rocking into her outstretched hand.

Red pulled away from her teasing, his arousal demanding he submit to his body's dictates. He moved to the nightstand to grab the necessary prophylactic, tearing the foil square open quick as a flash.

Rosalie grumbled her dissension, quietly wishing he would just forget the damn thing. "You know, we could just forgo that little trinket."

"Oh?" Raymond's voice dropped so low she thought the sound might shatter the nearby windows. "We're prepared for such an eventuality?"

"We're covered." The reply came as a desperate little mew, one Raymond dearly wished he could believe.

"Bring those lovely legs back up here, little dove."

Rosalie readily complied, returning to the position they were in before.

"That's it, rest your ankles on my shoulders, just like that." He purred, taking himself in hand.

Rosalie felt the hardened tip of his cock brush teasingly against her center, coaxing a rush of wetness from her core. The velvety soft warmth of his member dragged the length of her slit, taunting her with what she wanted most.

"This is something we should discuss at another time." Red cursed his weakness, eyes fixed upon his exquisite pastime. A more carnal corner of his mind screamed at him to shut up and give her exactly what she was aching for.

"Why?" Rosalie whispered in a tremulous shiver, her every nerve ending preoccupied with what her body felt.

"Because such decisions shouldn't be made in the throes of passion." The statement was pained, even to Red's ears, as thought he were trying to convince himself just as much as his companion.

A delighted shiver wracked his frame when Rosalie dipped her pelvis. The petal soft lips of her sex cradled the very tip of his member, pointedly directing him toward her desires. "Can you tell me you haven't been wondering? You're shivering, love. I doubt you could utter your name without moaning."

Another ripple of pleasure tore along Red's nerves, pulling a rough snarl from his mouth. "Rosalie, if you can tell me there isn't so much as a drop of uncertainty on your part, I will not hesitate to bury myself in this sweet little honeypot until my name is the only word _you_ can utter."

Rosalie ceased her needy writhing, looking up at him with a deer in the headlights expression.

Raymond watched the stark black of her pupils dilate further, but a drop of trepidation remained in her flushed features. He reached forward and brushed her cheek with a comforting thumb. "Exactly. With such an act comes a certain level of expectation; an understanding of where you and I are in our relationship. When we cross that threshold I need to know you want it as badly as I do. I need you to be absolutely certain, Rosalie. Dammit, I want you to _need_, to _crave_ such intimacy with me. There's nothing wrong with taking the time to consider precisely what it is you're asking for before you tell me to proceed."

She growled her discontent when he retreated a fraction and slid the condom into place.

"We have all the time in the world to take that leap, Rosalie."

Any protest she had was silenced when Raymond made good on his word, burying his throbbing length deep inside her in one long stroke. The slick heat pooling between her thighs made the action smooth as silk. Red groaned as Rosalie fluttered around him, her inner walls working frantically to accommodate his girth.

A long, drawn out cry escaped Rosalie, the sudden sensation of being filled too full making her skin prickle and her toes curl. "_Oh_...my..."

"Too much?" He smirked, placing another kiss to her ankles. He damn well knew the answer.

Rosalie could only moan in response as the thick rod inside her moved, retreating with Red's hips before surging forward to fill the tight space again.

Red established a slow, steady rhythm, allowing his partner to feel every inch of his shaft gliding along her entrance. He gasped at the sensations washing over him, overpowering all other thought as the tight, loving cradle of her heat massaged his cock without end. His hands continued to roam the length of her legs, caressing and kneading here and there.

"I saw your eyes," he intoned, "I felt just how hot and wet you became at the mere thought of my bare cock pleasuring this impossibly tight, terribly sensitive," she bucked into his thrust, sending a shiver of pleasure tearing along his nerves and making him groan piteously, "_perfect_ pussy."

Rosalie whimpered her involvement, trying to voice how deeply she desired what he was describing.

"You would come so easily, so hard with my shaft thrusting inside you without a thing between us." Red knelt onto the mattress, cupping Rosalie's bottom and shifting them both further up the bed. He pitched forward, bringing her legs closer to her chest and rolled his hips in a fluid momentum. He grinned when her eyes fluttered closed, the action accompanied by her body gripping him, the tight tunnel wrapped snugly around him twitching and convulsing its need, toying with an agonizing edge.

"You like the sound of that, don't you, little dove. Let me hear you."

"Y-Yes," her little features lifted in supplication, silently pleading for relief. "Please, _please_, give me more."

Raymond readily complied. His powerful frame overtook Rosalie's, pressing her thighs flush with her chest and continuing his unwavering pace.

The hardened crown of his cock found her g-spot with unfair precision, insistently hitting that sweet spot with each thrust. The new angle made Rosalie's body buckle in pleasure, but wedged as she was between Red and the mattress, there was nowhere for her to escape the onslaught of ecstasy encroaching upon her with each delicious push and pull.

Raymond was finally close enough to reach his lover's lips. Bracketing her head with his forearms, he leaned in and connected their mouths in a searing, passionate kiss. His fingers threaded through her long hair, holding her to his pleasure. The action soothed their feverish need just a bit more, slowing Red's possession of Rosalie's body to a gentler tempo. His lips followed the flushed arc of her cheekbones, trickling down the angle of her jaw to her neck and along her clavicle before kissing her again. He nipped at her bottom lip, urging Rosalie to open to him, needing to taste the sweetness of her mouth.

She did so without hesitation, relinquishing control to his wicked tongue. Her hands cupped his face, deepening the kiss further, a sigh vibrating from her lips to his.

They needed such intimacy. After two weeks of nothing more than phone calls, the pair were ravenous for the physical bond they shared. It had been several months since they had spent any time apart, and both fugitives found they had not enjoyed the interlude one bit. Time to oneself was relaxing in moderation, but fifteen days of precious little contact had left them both feeling rather bereft.

Red felt Rosalie's nails scratching the base of his spine, sending frissons of pleasure up and down his back.

"You're so deep." She whimpered her growing need, the coil inside her buckling with a painful tension. Her hands sprawled against the sheets, clutching the bed's surface for purchase. "Ray-_ right there_..."

Red could physically feel each tremor shaking the little ankles resting on his shoulders, the action bringing a self-assured smile to his lips. The man couldn't help a surge of masculine pride at bringing her to such a state. His warm hands reached out to knead her breasts, occasionally tweaking and rolling her tight pink nipple to ease the ache behind each peak, eliciting a chorus of tortured moans from Rosalie.

Her climax bore down on her without preamble, sending Rosalie hurtling over the edge cry as she clung to Raymond for stability.

"_There_." He cooed, finally feeling that sweet little valley grip him like a vice, the warm slickness of her release bathing his shaft. His lover's body pleaded for more, arching into his movements like a needy kitten.

Raymond snuck his thumb between Rosalie's thighs, stroking her clit in time with his continued thrusts to draw out her orgasm. Each circle of his thumb produced a pulse of pleasure within her, sending aftershocks sporadically clutching at the turgid length massaging her core.

Peeling those trembling limbs apart, Red brought their bodies flush together, gathering his lover tenderly into his arms and thrusting impossibly deep once more.

"Oh _God_ I missed you" Rosalie cried out when he buried himself to the hilt, kissing her cervix with the head of his cock. Her oversensitive walls could only quiver feebly around him, helpless to the waves of ecstasy still crashing over her. She returned his embrace, cradling him to her, relishing in the way his mouth traversed the sensitive curve of her neck to nip at those spots which gave her goosebumps.

"I love the way you give in to me," he panted in her ear, "You come undone so sweetly around my cock."

Rosalie gave a shivered mew, lifting to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

Red groaned his pleasure and lowered his mouth to her breast, flicking his tongue over the tight little peak he found there. Soft, feminine hands gripped his shoulders, clawing at him in unbridled pleasure when he suckled at her nipple.

The pair shifted, leaving Rosalie perched atop Raymond, her hips undulating at a steady clip to drive his shaft deeper still.

"That's it," he praised, working in tandem with her movements to bring them closer and closer to that mind-bending euphoria. "Take it. Ride my cock and come for me again."

"_Raymond_..." Rosalie buckled under the command, clutching at his chest and skirting her fingertips through the downy hair there.

Red gripped her hips and pulled her down into his upward momentum.

Both lovers groaned when they found just the right angle, their movements perfectly in tandem. It took only four more thrusts for Rosalie to be pushed into euphoria once more.

A rush of panting and a throaty whimper signaled her imminent release, the sounds trembling down to Red's ears from Rosalie's perch atop his cock.

The silky walls of her sex collapsed once more around him, tight as a vice and so perfectly wet. Red snarled when he felt one small, feminine hand reach behind her to fondle his testicles. That little exploration compounded with the feeling of his lover's body trying like hell to draw his length deeper, the dual sensations bringing him hurtling toward an excruciating edge.

"God, _yes_..." Raymond couldn't help a ragged moan of approval at the incentive when she snuck a finger to tease the spot directly behind the bundle in her hand. He rolled them once more, giving him the leverage needed to thrust into her with abandon, chasing that peak which threatened to swallow him whole.

Rosalie whispered softly in his ear, sweet little nothings and filthy little murmurings flowing from her honeyed voice, seeming to travel the length of his shaft, resonating in the very tip of his member. Cradling his head to the crook of her neck, she smoothed warm hands up and down the expanse of his back, occasionally dragging her nails just how he liked, coaxing him to give himself over to the powerful orgasm overtaking his body. The muscles in his frame shuddered their relief when his cock pulsed erratically within her soaking depths, a guttural moan rumbling against the warm hollow.

Raymond could only give in to the love she gave, knowing now that it was love which existed between them; though they had not yet given it a name. It was her love which he craved more than anything else. The knowledge that she would be there, at the end of a long, grueling day mired in the filth of humanity. Whenever Red walked into the safehouse, Rosalie was right there, warm, gentle, understanding...

Rosalie somehow made it all well worth it.

She turned and kissed his cheek repeatedly, quieting his racing pulse with her affection. Their lust-blown eyes met and held, a profound feeling of adoration lingering in the space between them.

It was Raymond who broke the silence first, leaning to kiss his companion before whispering against her lips.

"I missed you, my little dove."

An hour later found both fugitives in the home's impressive kitchen with a bottle of wine. Rosalie was openly admiring the collection of copper cookware while Red set about making dinner. What little sun there was had set and the home was alight with a warm glow and the steady pitter-patter of sleet against the tall windows.

Raymond was a dab hand in the kitchen, chopping vegetables in neat, uniform pieces with practiced ease. He tossed the assortment into a stockpot, which held a bubbling mixture of tomatoes and lobster stock. He had just pulled out a tray laden with all manner of seafood when his companion let out a tinkling laugh.

"Raymond Reddington, the Concierge of Crime...making bouillabaisse in his boxer briefs. Whatever would the FBI think if they discovered one of their most wanted was into such blatant domesticity?"

"I don't expect the feds to appreciate the finer nuances of my criminal mentality," came his reply, his manner perfectly unconcerned, "They would be baffled to find out I'm doing nothing more than wooing an illustrious female felon."

Rosalie's nose wrinkled playfully. "Hmm...I bet she's too young for you."

"Well, I heard she's too old for my bodyguard, so I thought I'd try my luck." Red quipped, a little tetchy for the perceived slight to his age.

Rosalie bit her bottom lip, trying not to laugh. "Ah touché." She slid from her seat and reached on her tiptoes to place a kiss at his jawline. "Personally, I think you're a fine vintage, love."

"I do plan on aging like a nice single malt." He preened under the compliment, his palm landing a gentle but reprimanding swat to the curve of her backside when she turned to leave. "The older I get the more you'll find I'm the only devil you'll want in your playground."

A sultry giggle tumbled unrestrainedly from her lips, "Let me know when you're down for another game of _Red rover_there, fella, and I'll show you just how much fun my playground can be." A saucy little swish of her hips and a devilish wink was all Raymond received as his companion went about exploring the apartment further.

Twenty minutes later, and Rosalie had decided she positively adored the abode. It was centuries old if the structure's support beams were anything to go by. Yet, instead of feeling musty and decrepit, the home felt like a lovingly restored time capsule. Tapestries and oil paintings, sketches and bronzes...artwork in a wide variety of mediums occupied every wall and available table. Ornate walnut and mahogany furniture from varying eras occupied the home's rooms, showcasing glistening antiques from the Queen Anne era to the Louis XVI years alongside specialty pieces from the Victorian and Art Deco eras. Every room held a perfectly cohesive hodgepodge of decades culminating in a beautiful, eclectic collection which just beckoned the occupants to enjoy the space's comfort.

What truly stole Rosalie's heart was the small library tucked in the back corner of the apartment. The room's ceiling soared upward to meet another set of colossal windows overlooking the Place des Voges, on any normal day, warm sunlight would cast a lovely golden hue over the sumptuous room. A pair of dark leather armchairs sat side by side, a heavy mahogany desk occupied the far end closest to the windows. Like the rest of the home, there was an ornate Persian carpet underfoot, and a variety of intriguing souvenirs from the man's travels displayed meticulously here and there.

A fortune's worth of books lined the walls, and where there weren't books there were records, and where the shelves ran out of space, the collection dispersed to little tables, metal carts, wooden crates, and the occasional foot stool. It was the kind of space Rosalie would expect a man like Raymond to have.

Looking upward, she recognized a ledge toward the top of the windows. It was the floor where Raymond's bedroom was. Rosalie couldn't help but grin at the open space before her smile suddenly fell.

Raymond's bedroom.

Rosalie's insides squirmed, recalling her earlier behavior. A voice in the back of her mind chastised her for being so brazen. What she had said was entirely too personal. She had all but informed the man she would quite like him to ride her bare, _please and thank you ever so much_.

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head ruefully.

_What on earth had gotten into her?_

An indignant snort left her mouth as her lewd mind readily reminded her _who_ had gotten into her. The mental quip made her laugh and sigh with exasperation all in the same breath.

Rosalie had never once made love with a man without a condom, but she would be outright lying if she said she wasn't dying to try it. None of her past lovers, in her mind, had been up to the task. To make love unprotected, it was something to be cherished, a fairly large step in a relationship.

It was a rather daunting gesture, now she stopped to think about it.

At least, from her perspective, it meant a certain level of commitment, of exclusivity. Rosalie realized with no small amount of nervousness, she and Raymond had never explicitly discussed the parameters of their relationship. She had just assumed... Certainly they were exclusive by now, were they not?

If so, wasn't this an avenue they could one day explore?

Raymond was honest, trustworthy, and caring. Rosalie could easily see herself sharing something so very intimate with him.

The woman frowned as she realized her brashness may have just shot down any chance of that happening.

_What was she thinking? _

_More importantly, what did her lover think_?

_Had she come off uncouth_?

Rosalie supposed if Raymond had been truly appalled by her gaffe, they wouldn't have made love. He would have been honest, he would have said something, surely.

_Wouldn't he_?

Turning to the bar cart beside the desk, Rosalie noticed a brand new bottle of Himbrimi gin waiting for her. A tiny smile pulled at her lips and she made herself a stiff drink and continued to contemplate her counterpart. She was too busy attempting to shut out the feelings of awkwardness writhing about in her stomach to hear the man approach.

"You've found the inner sanctum, I see."

Rosalie turned to see her companion leaning in the door way, an indulgent smile on his face. He was clad in only a button down and his boxers, the dark apron he had been wearing was returned to its hook in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry...Should I not be in here? I just wanted to see the rest-" She quickly moved to leave the room.

Red lifted a lazy hand to the opposite door frame, blocking her retreat. "No corner of this apartment is closed to you, my dear. I simply had a feeling I would find you in this particular room, considering your fondness for books and bookshelves."

Rosalie made no answer.

Raymond seemed to understand from the set of her shoulders, her comment earlier was weighing heavily on her mind. He held out the soft cashmere robe she liked to wear when the weather was cold. "Can we discuss what happened upstairs?"

Rosalie wrapped herself in the comforting garment with a look of gratitude.

Red's eyes softened, seeing the tightness in her shoulders lessen minutely once she was surrounded by the soft material, its hem skirting her mid-thigh.

She turned into his sphere, nibbling her bottom lip nervously, "I didn't mean to give you the impression you had t-"

"What did you mean by '_we're_ _covered'_?" he redirected, reaching to tuck a curl behind her ear.

His voice was warm and soothing, green eyes holding her in a predatory stare tinted with a captivating glint of something Rosalie couldn't quite name. He moved closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.

"I- Well," she began a halting explanation, suddenly feeling a hair shy, "I have, um...I have an IUD. Being a criminal who needs to keep a low profile, it just makes sense for a woman in my position to have a long term option in place." She winced at having to be so blunt, but couldn't think of another way to explain herself.

"Okay," Red nodded, perfectly undaunted, though a small smile threatened to overtake him. "So we're covered on the pregnancy front. We've long since had the discussion about previous partners, health and well-being and all that... So all that remains is intent."

"Are we monogamous?"

Rosalie's cheeks burned with embarrassment at the hastily blurted question.

Raymond's eyebrows shot to his hairline, "I was under that impression, yes. Do you perhaps feel differently on the matter?" His expression was carefully guarded, almost impossible to read. Almost.

His companion caught the minute twitch of his eye, a telltale sign of the man's displeasure. "No, no," she assured, "I realized I just assumed we were exclusive without asking...I don't share romantic partners."

Red valiantly fought the wide grin tugging at his lips.

Rosalie realized her gaffe, "I mean, not that you're _mine_ to share, it's just...Oh, stop looking at me like that!" She knew she was stammering rather ineloquently, but he needn't laugh at her.

Raymond was still grinning like a Cheshire cat, his other hand reaching out to sneak its way around her waist. "I am yours, little dove, and I won't be shared. Just as I won't share you, because you're mine."

She leaned into his hold and nodded her head, undeniably pleased by his response.

Roughened fingertips gently grasped her chin, lifting her face so Red could see her eyes. "Make no mistake, Rosalie, this is something I very much want."

"You- You do?" She couldn't help the hopeful tinge to her voice.

Raymond turned to seat himself in one of the room's leather armchairs, leisurely pulling his companion into his lap. "Making love with nothing between us is a level of intimacy which takes a certain amount of trust and intent to even consider. I know you and I are right at the threshold of such a place." He cupped her face in his palm, a lone thumb stroking her cheek in a soothing manner.

Rosalie burrowed into his arms with a sigh of relief, "So my big mouth hasn't put you off to the idea?"

He chuckled, "Quite the contrary. Rosalie, you've managed to genuinely surprise me. You aroused the hell out of me and made me excited for what the near future has in store for us. You could never put me off to such an intimate gesture. I merely needed to make absolutely certain you truly wanted such intimacy before proceeding."

"I _do_ want that," she whispered, placing her hand to his chest, "I do crave such intimacy with you, and you alone. Not just when we're in bed together, either. I've felt it for months now, and never more acutely than the day you left for Kosovo."

Red listened intently, watching her features without so much as a blink while she confessed her desires.

"You were gone, for two weeks and in that time I was forcibly reminded of what it was like before you and I were on the run together." Her dark eyes shone with their sincerity, recalling the long nights spent tossing and turning, unable to sleep. The safehouses were ungodly quiet in his and Dembe's absence, the only sound cutting the silence had been Rosalie's mind whirring in the background, wondering if they were alright. "It was as though the sky cleared and all I could see was how much I loved what we have."

The pair sat in pointed silence, Rosalie curled up against Raymond's shoulder, Raymond resting his cheek against the crown of Rosalie's head.

"Then we are in agreement. I won't question such a request from you again." His tone was a warning one, turning to brush the tip of his nose against her temple.

Undaunted, Rosalie shifted to drape her arms around his neck, pulling him close and dropping a smattering of gentle kisses against his mouth.

"Promise."

Red smiled against her lips, "Oh, I promise."

The scent of bouillabaisse wafted from the home's kitchen, finally luring the two from their secluded corner of the apartment.

Rosalie beamed at the sight of the round kitchen table covered in crisp linens, a pair of slender candles waiting patiently to be lit. Hors-d'oeuvres of oysters on the half shell were placed alongside a glass bowl of beluga caviar nestled in ice, crisp little toast points waiting on a plate nearby. A small bowl of classic rouille waited to top their stew along with thick slices of fresh baguette which rested on a small platter beside a beautifully ornate tureen.

A large wineglass carrying a robust Chateaux Cheval Blanc was eased into her hand by a smiling Raymond Reddington, who proceeded to light the candles and kick on the record player before pulling out her chair.

"I'm usually better dressed for a date," he conceded, peering down at his boxers and giving a shrug. His hair was sticking up here and there, and the top buttons of his shirt were left open to bare a small swath of his chest, but Rosalie found the look rather endearing.

She spared a glance for her own attire, then patted the seat next to her with a smile. "I think we look fabulous."

The longing for closer proximity remained, thus Red took the seat directly beside his companion, his knee brushing against Rosalie's any time one of them moved. She didn't mind, actually she seemed to take great enjoyment out of playing footsie with him beneath the table.

A bottle of wine later and another already decanting, the couple spent most of the dinner comparing bouillabaisse recipes.

Raymond's rendition had been painstakingly revised over a period of years, altering the foundations of the broth and tweaking the fish and shellfish used until it was just perfect. The concoction within the tureen was heavy with langoustines and prawns, mussels and little neck clams, sea bass and perch, even a few delicate little sea scallops made it into the mix.

"The trick is the saffron," Rosalie could be heard saying, giving her companion a knowing look.

Red pressed his napkin to his lips, his head sing-songing back and forth. "The saffron is one of the tricky bits. The real challenge is finding the _rascasse_, that hideous red scorpionfish that's damn near impossible to find outside of certain markets."

"You even got the rouille right, color me impressed."

He accepted the praise with a satisfied smile, "I take it I've met the expectations of your traditional French palate?"

"There are few things sexier than a man who can cook," Rosalie vowed, guiding her last spoonful of bouillabaisse to her lips.

"I'll keep that bit of intel in mind the next time I plan on wooing you into bed." Raymond topped off his glass of wine

Rosalie laughed, kissed his cheek and stood to begin clearing the table. "Darling, you had me long before you even started the bouillabaisse."

When the woman turned around, she saw Raymond lifting a large box from the closet and carrying it into the sitting room. The sight was soon followed by a swift music change, an upbeat holiday record echoing from the stereo.

In the sitting room, Red carefully set the box he was carrying in a nearby armchair and changed the records over. He stoked the fire and rubbed his hands together, eager to get started.

He couldn't deny he had been looking forward to engaging in these silly old traditions with his companion. Even when he was a young boy, he had looked forward to the prospect of such normalcy, when it was his home, decorated how he liked, with someone special to share it with.

Raymond popped the box's lid, gently lifting six smaller boxes and a spool of beaded garland from the mix. A neatly coiled string of lights and a folded tree skirt followed, their removal unearthing an item which Red hadn't seen in years.

He lifted the large velvet-covered box and set it gingerly on the nearby coffee table. Slipping the cover from its resting place, Red smiled to see the old music box's face still shone in the warm light. Its inlay was still beautifully intact despite the many years it had been since it was built. The item's key was still nestled in its confines, which Raymond opened to turn the switch.

Rosalie watched from the kitchen doorway as he opened the box with a certain kind of reverence, revealing a row of little brass bells and the long cylinder which had the box's tune imprinted on it. A familiar song came ringing from within.

"Oh Raymond, it's beautiful."

Raymond beamed and waved her over to him, gathering her to his side on the sofa. "An old heirloom," he murmured, listening to the tinkling tune. "You know, one of my mother's most favorite songs was 'The Anniversary Waltz.' She used to hum it when we were kids. Folding the laundry, cooking dinner, darning my father's socks... Mom loved that song."

Rosalie watched his gaze grow distant, his brow creased deep in thought. "Your parents, are they still-?" She hesitated, realizing what she was asking could hit too close to home.

"I've always found Christmas to be the best time of year." He redirected with ease, "The weather's cold, but the houses are warm. The whole world seems to glow with goodness and light. Even those hardest to please typically find something to be benevolent about." The man could only think of his father, utterly impossible to please, yet even he would be a little less critical, less confrontational, during the holidays. This resulted in some of the most peaceful days in Red's childhood.

"You're right," Rosalie rested her head on his shoulder and listened to the bells' tinkling song, "It is a lovely time of year."

They sat in silence until the tune was finished, Rosalie's hand cradled in Red's, his thumb brushing back and forth across her fingers. As the last bell struck, he gave his companion a gentle squeeze and closed the box's lid. "I think it's time we got to decorating, my dear."

The pair made for the slender fir tree nestled in the room's corner. They started with the lights, plugging the strand into the wall near the base of the tree before passing the bundle around and around, ensuring they managed an even coating. After that, they draped long strands of gold beaded garland, making pretty loops every few inches all they way up to the very top.

Raymond opened the assortment of smaller boxes to reveal a variety of ornaments. Some were made of mercury glass, others were painted wood. There were delicate spindles and smooth, shining spheres, even a 60's-era cosmonaut ornament made it into the bunch.

Rosalie lifted one of the wood ornaments by the little gold ribbon attached to it, admiring the intricate, hand-painted design on the egg-shaped bauble. It was obvious the ornaments were decades old, some of them positively antiques. "I take it these are heirlooms as well? They're incredibly ornate." She hung the egg at eye level and proceeded to carefully disperse its companions throughout the tree.

Red nodded, setting another couple ornaments amongst the hanging boughs. "Everything in that box," he pointed to the armchair where the now-empty container sat, "came from my family."

He returned to the ornaments, his voice casual. "The tree skirt was embroidered by my mother and grandmother. The ornaments were from her side of the family as well. The garland-"

His mind forcefully recalled a little head of soft brown curls and dazzling blue eyes, a pair of tiny hands laying the glimmering spool in his upturned palms, a child's voice softly whispering to him that it was a gift.

"-and the star, that was from my father's side of the family."

He lifted a spindly red star from one of the boxes and handed it to Rosalie. The object's five points spanned the width of both her hands, the nearby glow of the fireplace made it flash ruby red in the low light.

Raymond bent without a word, arms wrapping tightly about Rosalie's upper thighs and lifting her bodily into the air.

She giggled from her perch, grasping one of Red's shoulders to stabilize herself as she reached for the top of the tree. Even with his added height, she could just barely wiggle the star in place.

Once the topper was straight, Raymond relaxed his arms, allowing his companion to slide ever so slowly down the front of his person. He waggled his eyebrows when they came eye to eye, her little face alight with amusement.

Rosalie turned to admire their handiwork, "It truly is a lovely tree, darling."

Red set her feet back down onto the plush carpet, nodding. "A first. Our first Christmas tree."

She laughed and patted his chest with obvious fondness, "Have I mentioned how adorable I find your enjoyment of all this?"

"I've been looking forward to this," Raymond admitted, "Having someone with whom to do these sorts of things...I've longed for such simplicity. Bringing you here is something I've been planning for a long while now."

Rosalie carded her fingertips gently through his hair, "When was the last time you had someone here?"

"I haven't." Raymond stated, perfectly unabashed. "You're the only person I've ever brought to this apartment."

The statement held a wealth of meaning which did not go unrecognized by either party.

Red made it a point not to look away when Rosalie's astonished gaze fell upon him.

"You weren't just asking me to stay the night, were you?"

He shook his head, "No."

Rosalie exhaled a shaky breath, her hands moving to rest on his shoulders.

"I'm asking you to keep a toothbrush in the ensuite." Raymond's expression turned to one of deepest fondness, "I'm asking you to take the opposite side of the master closet for your own and fill it with clothes, shoes, and other personal effects. I'm asking to give you a key to the apartment and a code for the garage. I'm asking that every time you and I are in this city, alone or together, we call this apartment home."

Rosalie took a moment to gather herself, realizing what this meant. "You're asking me to move in with you."

"As much as can be managed for a pair of criminals on the move every two days." Red agreed with a chuckle, plucking an ornament from the tree which she had missed entirely. It was an old-fashioned brass key, an emerald ribbon looped through its handle.

"What do you think, Rosalie?"

The cheeky smirk which wrinkled her nose amused and delighted Raymond to no end.

She stooped to pick up a large roll of red velvet ribbon and placed it in his hands. She exchanged the spool for the key he held, grasping it in her hand and holding the cold metal to her chest. "I think we're not quite done decking our halls, darling."

After finishing their holiday shenanigans, which involved a large wreath in each of the home's towering windows, a few well-placed sprigs of mistletoe in certain door frames, and two fugitives slow dancing together in the halls, the house's sole occupants sat curled up together in the comfort of the sitting room.

Raymond lounged in a corner of the plush sofa with Rosalie tucked securely against his side. They relaxed and digested for an hour or two, admiring their handiwork and reminiscing on some of their more amusing adventures while they polished off another bottle of wine.

They were getting a hair tipsy at this point. Rather than becoming more boisterous, the space between them grew more and more intimate, their words whispered in hushed murmurs as they regaled the favored tales which made their spirits soar.

As the clock struck midnight, Red had his companion snuggled up beside him, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he told her the story of how he had acquired his Parisian abode.

"So there I was, in this ridiculous Santa Claus outfit-"

Rosalie tittered and lowered her hand to draw little circles on his knee, "You're so full of it. I doubt you've ever been in a Santa Claus costume."

Raymond made a disappointed tutting noise, "Now, now. This is my story, mademoiselle, and I'll embellish it how I like."

"I consider any tale that involves you wearing polyester to be a horribly fabricated falsehood." Her mischief-laden quip only seemed to spur the man on, making him squawk and scoff in varying degrees of mock outrage.

He seemed appeased when Rosalie held her hands up in defeat and leaned to rest her head against his once more. "As I was saying, it was a frigid day in the fourth arrondissement and my Santa getup left a bit to be desired. It certainly wasn't a custom fit ..."

The woman listened amusedly to the ever-evolving tale, which she was now certain was completely made up. All the same, her companion had a method of storytelling which captivated and thrilled his audience, even when there wasn't an ounce of truth to what he said. Rosalie was certain he would eventually tell her the truth behind his procurement of the apartment, and looked forward to that eventuality. Until then she was content to listen to him inventing wild and completely unrealistic fiction.

Before he could spin into the next yarn, however, she decided dessert was in order.

"There's something decadent from the bakery downstairs, it's waiting on the kitchen counter." Raymond grunted, reluctantly relinquishing his hold on her and moving to change the records on the stereo.

Rosalie made her way into the kitchen, eyeing the beautifully prepared tart beneath a pristine glass cloche. The confection was laden with neatly cut figs, each glistening with golden drizzles of honey and flecks of cardamom. She removed the glass covering with a flourish and cut a generous slice for the two of them to share. Striding back into the room, she found her companion back in his seat, one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, creating a welcoming nook for her to settle into.

"None for the likes of me?" He teased, swirling yet another glass of wine in his opposite hand.

Rosalie grinned and took her place beside him, "Share your wine and I might give you a bite."

Red chuckled, holding the large slice of tart with a covetous glance. "That hardly seems fair."

She countered with a waggle of her slender brows, "A sip of wine for a little something sweet? I think that's a fair price, darling."

Her companion shook his head emphatically, "You want me to choose between a perfectly delectable Chateaux Margaux and my sweet tooth. That's almost cruel, little dove."

Rosalie gave a mocking pout of commiseration, popping a fig into her mouth.

"Minx." He chastised, dropping a hand to poke her in the ribs, causing her to giggle around her bite of tart.

Rosalie squirmed away from his tickling, which only drove her deeper into the man's hold. In a matter of seconds, she was squeezed flush to his side, barely able to breathe, let alone wrangle her fork back to the dessert plate. "Alright, alright," she temporarily conceded defeat, "How about a story? I'll share my tart with you if you tell me how you got that stolen Van Gogh on the wall in the library. The Poppy Flowers is _supposedly_ hanging in the Mohamed Mahmoud Khalil Museum. You aren't the type to buy a fake, even if it is a very convincing one, so I'm convinced you managed to acquire the original. How did you get it?"

Raymond let out a barking laugh, rather intrigued by her astute observations. He held hhis hand out for her to shake, agreeing to the deal.

A pregnant silence hung between them as Rosalie waited for him to start.

It was only when the man cleared his throat that she realized he wasn't saying a word without a little incentive.

Her eyes flitted up to his, batting coyly.

"I want a taste before I dive into the tale." He inclined his head toward the dessert, tapping patient fingertips on the back of the couch.

Rosalie cut a piece with her fork, lifting the morsel and slowly bringing it to her own lips, which quirked upward into a mischievous smile as she placed the bite on her tongue.

Red prodded the inside of his cheek with his own tongue, his eyes narrowing for her impishness. "You know, I ought t-"

The dessert plate was set aside as Rosalie slid a leg over his hips, settling herself in his lap. Her hands smoothed up his chest to cradle his face in warm palms, guiding his mouth to hers.

Raymond grunted when her lips captured his own, the petal softness melding instantly to him, deepening the contact without another thought. Rosalie's warm little tongue swiped at his bottom lip, seeking entrance. He allowed it, opening to her exploration with a soft moan. Red tasted honey, cardamom and a hint of fig when she entered his mouth, her tongue stroking and massaging every sensitive corner of him until he was clutching at her hips with both hands.

Rosalie released him with a mew, her nose nuzzling back and forth against his.

"What was that for?" He asked, his voice a heated, bottomless growl.

"You asked..." Rosalie placed another chaste kiss to his lips, "for a _taste_."

Red could feel her smile against his lips, thoroughly pleased with her display of irreverent wit. He found the action terribly amusing, sending a roguish chuckle rumbling darkly through his chest. "Oh, you are a handful, aren't you? Cheeky little thing."

Their dessert was completely forgotten, a far more enticing craving needing tending to.

The following morning saw Raymond and Rosalie leisurely curled up together in the master suite's enormous bed, the night's activities leaving them in a tousled sea of soft, warm cotton.

Raymond inhaled deeply, his nose buried in the gentle slope of Rosalie's neck, taking in the delicate bouquet of scents which resided there. Her new perfume, his aftershave, the honeyed euphoria of sex and the dark allure of rekindling desire…they all beckoned him closer, coaxing him to gather his lover more tightly to him.

Rosalie hummed at the sensation of his lips and nose brushing along her collarbone, making her pulse skyrocket. She wriggled backward, silently requesting to be kept snug against him.

Red happily complied, wrapping himself more tightly around her. "Bonjour, ma petite colombe." His warm breath tickled her ear, making her squirm pleasantly.

"Good morning," her drowsy voice tittered from the warm nook that was his arms, "Please tell me it's not time to go already."

"It's not," he assured, leaning on his elbow to better observe the steady rise and fall of her chest. His hand smoothed along the dip of her waist and over the crest of her hip, outlining her silhouette with relish.

They had a few hours yet before they needed to meet Dembe at the plane, and the two had formed an unspoken agreement that they would be spending as much of that time as they could curled up in bed.

It was going to be an incredibly busy day once they left the apartment for Céret.

The Armels were hosting their annual holiday dinner party for a few close allies and associates that evening. This meant the château would be bursting with people and the house's three newcomers would be in dinner dress and dealing with some of the European underground's key players a few short hours after their arrival.

Personally, Raymond was looking forward to the shindig.

There were few things he enjoyed more than a good party. Knowing Florian, there would be excellent food and libations, music, dancing, the works. As far as guests, the players with whom Florian associated were top tier, so the conversations would be far from dull. The old mobster's reputation also ensured guests would remain civil while under his roof. The Armel Château was fabled as an absolute fortress, and one of the safest places in all of France. It was going to be a nice change for he and Rosalie to be able to let their hair down, so to speak, and blow off steam with some of the more civilized members of their criminal brethren.

However, the party was not the only exciting event happening that day.

Unrelated to their evening plans was the final expansion within Rosalie's network which was rolling out that very morning. The last three penthouses had in fact opened four hours prior to their waking.

Though she hadn't yet mentioned it to Raymond, Rosalie was quietly breathing a sigh of relief at the knowledge her network was once again complete and functioning. She hadn't received a single problematic call in the past twenty-four hours.

Unbeknownst to Rosalie, her companion was already well aware of the good news.

Red shifted behind her, stretching to pull something from his nightstand before encircling her in his arms once more. "Don't panic," he insisted, slipping a small leather jewelry box into her palm.

Rosalie's breath couldn't help but come to a sputtering halt as her eyes took in the cobalt-colored box with its striking gold band, the ornate emblem of the custom jewelry house from which it came glinting on its side.

_No, no, no, no, no._

"Raymond, tell me this isn't..."

The man in question felt the entirety of his lover's frame stiffen in his grasp, the sensation making him laugh heartily. "I said _don't_ panic, it's not at all what you think."

Rosalie made to move, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. "This isn't necessary, really-"

He pulled her back into his embrace, nestling his cheek against hers and reaching out to cup both her hand and the little box in his outstretched palm.

"Relax, love."

He ran a comforting hand through her tousled hair, smirking when the action eased a soft sigh from her lips. He took that moment to flip the box's lid, showcasing the stunning ring inside.

"_Raymond_…"

Rosalie was at a loss for words, the magnificent solitaire nestled in stark black velvet was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

The cushion cut stone was a deep, turbulent green with the faintest hint of blue. It was nestled in a quietly ornate platinum band which looked to be an antique.

Raymond slipped the delicate jewel from its box and held it up in the slip of bright morning light beginning to filter through the windows, watching in intrigue as the gem's colors glinted and shone.

"It's a gift." He allowed the word to sink in, waiting for her panic to subside and her body to relax before continuing. "The setting is Edwardian platinum, the filigree on the sides of the band is laurel."

Rosalie peered curiously at the etching in the metal as he held it close for her to see. The intricate detail of each little leaf adorning the band was stunning.

"Dating back to antiquity, wreaths of bay laurel have been attributed to many people of power and influence. Olympians are still given laurel wreaths in honor of the Greek god Apollo, Julius Caesar was awarded one for valor in the wars of Asia Minor, Napoleon Bonaparte even chose the laurel wreath as both his crown and a symbol of his empire. For millennia, the laurel wreath has been an emblem of wealth and success; victory in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds."

He slid the jewel onto the middle finger of her right hand, admiring the setting in its rightful place. "I promised you by the end of the year you'd have your feet back under you, and as of…" he turned and lifted his watch from the nightstand, "four hours ago, every safehouse, penthouse, and blacksite in your network has become fully operational." Red set the watch back on his nightstand, knocking twice on the wood's polished surface before scooping her into his arms once more. "I daresay that's cause to celebrate."

Rosalie turned to face him, "How did you know?"

Raymond grinned as his fingertips moved to trail teasing circles along her spine, his explanation simple. "Teddy."

She laughed, "You've had my own security keeping tabs on me?"

He shrugged and brought her to his chest, falling comfortably back amongst the pillows. "I've had your security keeping me appraised of your pacing, so I would know when the expansions were complete and you could finally breathe again."

Rosalie's lips parted in a soft 'o', just then realizing how far her empire had come in the past year and a half, and how much of her health and well-being during that transition was owed to her companion. She held out her hand and eyed the beautiful gem glimmering there.

"Raymond, this is far too much. You've already given me a key to your apartment, this is-"

"That's completely unrelated. What's a life-changing success without something to mark the occasion?" Raymond insisted, his tone utterly indulgent, "You've created something incredible, Rosalie. You deserve to feel proud of such a success. I know _I'm_-"

He halted with a purse of his lips, wondering if perhaps he was being a tad too forthcoming.

"What?" Rosalie asked, turning to hold his gaze with her own.

Red gave a non-committal shrug, "I'm terribly proud of you, my dear."

He meant it. The pride he felt upon hearing all the hard work of the past six months was coming to a close that morning had made his insides burn with a fierce approval. All Raymond could think about for days was their fateful meeting back in Hong Kong which had set all of this in motion. He had been immensely pleased by the intellect Rosalie had displayed, her poise and as she danced the verbal tango of their negotiations. Rosalie was a rare, singularly formidable creature the likes of which Red had not and would not encounter again.

Raymond wanted her to be able to bask in that achievement, to enjoy just how far she'd come.

Rosalie watched the range of emotions pass across his face, usually so careful and guarded. For once, he seemed laid bare before her.

"That means a great deal to me, Raymond." The woman reached to cup his cheek, stroking the stubble there with her thumb. "I owe a great deal of that success to you. I sincerely doubt I would have made it through this unscathed had you not been there to guide me to the other side. Thank you, for everything."

She kissed his lips in thanks, her body melding readily into his embrace.

Red grinned when she released him, her dark eyes bright with delight as she stared at the ring once more.

"It's gorgeous, Raymond. I don't think I've ever seen an emerald like this."

"Ah, well, that's because it's not an emerald."

Rosalie beamed at the boyish excitement which lit Raymond's features as he delved into the story of his unique find.

"If you recall, we made a stop in Romania last June?"

She nodded at the memory.

"Well, while we were there, an associate of mine made mention of a new mine opening at the northern edge of the Czech Republic. The venture was going to be a bottomless money pit, I wanted nothing to do with it, and told him as much. However, the broker for the mine was so hell-bent on convincing me it was going to be a boon, he cornered me in that dicey little bar we went to on the outskirts of Bucharest."

Rosalie scowled, "Oh I remember that hole in the wall. Horace kept beating me at repezita...the dirty cheat."

Red snorted with laughter, "Indeed. Well, the mine the broker was peddling was for Grandidierite. Now, grandidierite is admittedly one of the most valuable gemstones in the world, but the stone's exclusivity throws the economics completely out of balance. There will never be enough supply to even generate the level of demand needed to mine for grandidierite alone"

"Why?" Rosalie asked, peering at the stone with ever-increasing fondness, curious how such a beautiful thing couldn't be in demand.

"Most grandidierite unearthed is not gem quality. More than ninety percent of the stones found are opaque, a scant handful of the remaining ten percent is viable for cutting. Many are found to be too fragile, even more so are too transparent to be of any value." He cradled her hand in his, observing the light glinting off the stone, "The gem's value is in its rarity. There are less than ten cut stones of this clarity In the world, none of which share this stone's particular hue. Its color is incredibly deep, with just a hint of blue. There's not another one like it in the world."

He was pleased to see his companion's cheeks flush with pleasure.

"How did you find it?"

Raymond settled amongst the pillows with a grin, lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching luxuriously. "Well, as it turns out, the clear stones the broker was touting as evidence for the mine's prosperity were not at all from the Czech Republic."

Rosalie leaned back, truthfully rather impressed. "How on earth did you know that?"

"I didn't. _Dembe_ apparently took a gemology course a while back, and he quietly informed me the mineral content of the region was not capable of producing the gemstones the broker was displaying."

Her laugh bounced merrily off of the tall ceiling, "Oh he is a clever one, that Dembe Zuma. Where, pray tell, did the stones actually hail from?"

"Madagascar. We unearthed the truth over the course of a few weeks. The eight or so clear stones in existence all came from the same deposit on the island's southern edge. Armed with such knowledge, I went to the broker to discuss the upending of his criminal enterprise. Oddly enough, he was quite motivated to keep me quiet."

Rosalie's mouth fell open with an adorable pop, "Raymond Reddington, you didn't."

"Didn't..._what_?" He asked, his features a picture perfect mask of innocence.

"Oh, you _did_!" Her hand swatted his chest in chastisement, knowing better than to believe him innocent of any skullduggery.

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you could possibly be referring to." Red insisted, biting back a huge grin, "I simply played my part. There was a nasty band of ne'er-do-wells peddling falsehoods and I stepped in, saving myself and my allies a bundle in the process. A noble deed if there ever was one."

A deafening silence fell between them for the space of three whole seconds before they both started laughing, collapsing into one another in their merriment.

Rosalie lifted her head, her eyes dancing with mirth, and rested her chin on Red's sternum. "You blackmailed him, didn't you?"

Raymond heaved a forlorn sigh, "Here I thought I was a man of mystery. Tell me, my dear, is the thrill already gone?"

"Tell me everything, you big bad felon," she teased, turning to drape her naked body over his, "I'll let you know how much of a thrill it's been once you've given up the goods."

A full, rumbling laugh poured from Red's throat as he settled back into the tale, wrapping an arm around the feminine silhouette which covered him.

"I was just going to warn the poor fellow of his imminent bankruptcy, having more than a couple dear friends in his investor's pool. However, when I went to meet him he had a number of stones resting in a glass case. The beauty which now occupies your right hand sat dead center, and I knew I had to have it. Gifting me the stone was a mere drop in the bucket, I considered it as payment for giving him a head start against the level of financial ruin he had coming his way. After we left, I took the stone and had it appraised by a world class gemologist in London who owed me a favor; don't ask, it was years ago and involved a very aggressive python, I'm not particularly fond of the story..."

Rosalie's tinkling laugh could be heard from his chest, utterly delighted by the notion.

"Anyway, the gemologist confirmed what I had sent was indeed one of the eight gems mined in Madagascar. Upon receiving said intel, I had the stone sent to a custom jewelry house here in Paris to be set. I had considered a necklace initially, but then I remembered an old tradition involving women and right-hand rings."

"The prohibition era." Rosalie nodded knowingly from her perch atop his person.

Red's visage brightened considerably, holding her right palm to his chest and feeling the cool strip of the ring's band against his skin."Yes. The tradition of the right-hand ring dates back to the 1920's cocktail ring. For the first time in American history, women had entered the workforce, wore pants, and even drank in the speakeasies alongside men. Cocktail rings were usually purchased by the women themselves as a symbol of their new-found earning power. As the decades have gone by, the meaning of those rings has remained roughly the same, showcasing a woman's prowess at attaining her own wealth and success. I find it a lovely little ode to tradition as well as a playful nod to the nature of our world in particular."

Rosalie's smile was radiant as she peered down at her companion, her fingertips dancing through the soft down of his chest hair. "A blackmailed stone in a centuries old setting...It's _perfect,_" she whispered, lifting one of his hands to her lips so she could kiss her way along his palm. "Thank you Raymond, for everything."

Raymond grasped the back of her neck and brought her mouth to his, claiming her lips in a deep, sensual kiss which negated the need for any further response. Everything they felt, every word they wished to express was poured into the gesture, bringing them back to the foundation of their life together and fortifying the connection once more.

It was noon and their bags were packed, but Rosalie was nowhere to be found.

Raymond brought the last of his belongings to the entryway, then walked the length of the apartment, having an inkling of an idea where he might find his companion.

As he expected, Rosalie was seated in an armchair in the library, watching the cold winter sun pour through the windows as she fidgeted with her ring.

"Are you sure we have to leave?" She gave a heavy sigh, looking wistfully around the beautiful room.

Raymond smiled, his hands tucking themselves leisurely in his pockets. "You enjoyed our time here?"

She stood and brushed a bead of moisture from the corner of her eye, "Raymond, it was wonderful. You gave us a night to simply be a couple, to do all those seemingly insignificant little traditions which so often get robbed from us. In less than twenty-four hours this place has given me memories I will deeply cherish."

"I'm glad." He murmured, reaching out to hold her, "I was hoping you would be as enamored with our new place as I am."

Rosalie buried her face in his shoulder, a perfect picture of shy delight, "I love it here. I can't wait to come back."

_Le Bourget Airport - Paris, France - December 23rd, 1999_

Raymond's Gulfstream was waiting for them as they pulled up in the tank that was Rosalie's Rolls Royce.

The woman in question leapt out of the vehicle once it was in park and scurried to close the distance between herself and Dembe, who was waiting patiently at the bottom of the plane's stairs.

"Two weeks is entirely too long!" Raymond heard her declare, kissing Dembe's cheeks and squeezing him fondly. "You look like you've lost a little weight, sweetheart."

She turned accusing eyes toward Raymond, "Did you not feed him while I was away?"

Dembe's expression turned instantly serious, a hand reaching to pat his flat stomach in mock despair. "He didn't feed me at all. I am wasting away."

Red looked mildly put out, "We went out every night! He had all kinds of vegetarian Serbian cuisine from dozens of fine restaurants."

Rosalie frowned critically, looking over the younger man once more. "Hmm...I don't think Dembe would lie to me. Poor thing, we brought you a box full of pastries and cut fruit. I'll make a batch of lemon kolaches once we get to the house."

Dembe's smile was positively dazzling as he hugged his friend, glancing over Rosalie's shoulder to direct the rascally grin at Raymond. "Only lemon ones?"

Rosalie was blissfully unaware of her companion's mischievous expression. "Of course sweetheart, whatever you like."

Red rolled his eyes and shooed them both onto the plane, shaking his head for his lot in life.

The plane taxied and Rosalie was still fussing over Dembe, much to the younger man's enjoyment.

Thus, Raymond was surprised when his companion leaned over the back of his chair to squeeze his shoulders and whisper in his ear. "I picked up a smaller version of that fig tart while we were at the bakery, I know you didn't actually get a bite last night, what with every going on..."

A playful giggle could be heard before she kissed his cheek then sauntered off to make herself a coffee and catch up with Red's flight attendant.

Dembe was grinning knowingly at his compatriot. "Chaumet outdid themselves with the ring. I take it Rosalie approved?"

Raymond gave a deeply satisfied nod, "She absolutely loved it. You were right, that color suits her perfectly."

_The Armel Estate- Céret, France _

The flight took less than forty minutes, touching down on the private airstrip just north of the Armel's abode. Another beast of a Rolls Royce waited patiently for them, the cars driver waving cheerily to the group as they disembarked the jet.

Dembe took the passenger's seat while Raymond and Rosalie occupied the back.

The former watched in undisguised amusement as Rosalie became more and more nervous. She practically vibrated when they turned down a quiet gravel lane lined with towering oak trees. She fidgeted with the ring on her finger, her bottom lip catching between her teeth when the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of a massive, sprawling château.

Raymond was chortling to himself when they exited the car, handing their bags over to the house's many staff, all of whom seemed delighted to see the young woman in their company.

The three looked up at the towering home before them, all seeming to steel their nerves for the night to come.

"I want this to go well," Rosalie confided, turning to her companion, "This is tantamount to you meeting my parents, only it's a lot more involved than that."

Both Raymond and Dembe grinned at her fretting. "My dear, you know first hand we are the utmost in charm and decorum."

Rosalie blanched.

"Please, no drawing guns, no bashing Florian's taste in cigars, and _you" _she gestured pointedly at Raymond, "You can be your charming self _without_ flirting with his wife."

"Come now, where's the fun in that?" Red waved a careless hand for Rosalie's appalled expression, coaxing her toward the front door. "You forget I've already met Florian, and we've long since accepted the fact that Marietta is going to positively adore me. Besides, I've heard she's a loaded pistol, and I'm eager to see just how far your apple has fallen from the Armel family tree."

Dembe could be heard sniggering behind them, garnering a terrorized expression from Rosalie.

"It's Christmas, a time of _purity_ and joy," she turned to her compatriot for support, "Dembe, tell him he needs to behave himself."

"That's a very big ask, Rosalie." He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, causing Raymond to roar with laughter.

She leveled Dembe a heart-wrenching, consternated pout. "Oh, you're no help at all. What good is having the boss's right hand in my pocket when you won't bully him about for me?"

Red was undeterred, leaning to goose the curve of Rosalie's backside, causing her to all but leap onto the home's threshold. "I can assure you my thoughts are most..._impure_, little dove. Though, I can promise what I have in mind will leave you quite joyous."

Rosalie whipped around and poked his chest with a manicured finger, "Now listen here, you won't be getting your holly jolly's with me, bub."

"Oh I'll get them, don't you worry" he grinned lasciviously at his little companion before bending to whisper in her ear.

"Keep in mind I like my holly jollies gift wrapped. _Bows and all_."

The heavy mahogany doors swung wide seconds later, revealing Florian and Marietta Armel, beaming in welcome and quickly ushering the trio inside the warm foyer.


	28. United Front

_**Author's Note**_

Hi All,

I just wanted to say thank you for your readership! I especially want to thank those of you who have left a comment or two over the past several chapters, it warms my heart. :) A lot of you are guests, so I can't respond to you, but know your comments are deeply appreciated.

As far as the future for this fic, I will be following canon as closely as possible, with a few artistic liberties thrown in to suit my theory as to who Raymond Reddington is. As of the season 7 finale, I have the endgame decided for this story, and approximately 115 named chapters in the wings. I hope to keep you all along for the ride!

Stay safe, stay healthy, and Happy Reading.

\- The Author

* * *

_The Armel Estate - Céret, France - December 23rd, 1999_

"Bienvenue, Bienvenue!"

Raymond, Dembe and Rosalie were quickly ushered across the home's stone threshold and into the warm, inviting foyer.

The two men halted to take in their surroundings, the grandeur of what was more a castle than a château.

Red shouldn't have been surprised.

As the boss of the Corsican mafia, Florian Armel held the crown to one of the most powerful and lucrative criminal enterprises in all of Europe. The historic home was known as the Château d'Aubiry, an illustrious monument to the bourgeoisie of the Belle Époque period in French history.

The group parted and Red was left face to face with the lady of the château. A petite frenchwoman with a radiant smile stepped forward, the very definition of grace and sophistication as she welcomed the newcomers to her domain.

Raymond saw so much of Rosalie Øllegaard in Marietta Armel, the resemblance was uncanny.

Like her adopted daughter, Madame Armel exuded an air of hospitality and warmth which permeated the ions in the air around her. She had that same glint of mischief and cleverness lingering behind the pale, alluring amber of her eyes.

Her attire was a testament to the beauty of French minimalism, a pair of perfectly tailored dark wool trousers and a cream merino sweater framing her svelte figure. Her platinum blonde locks shone like silk, the wavy tendrils framing her face in a comely French bob.

Marietta was elegant, vivacious…In a word, lovely.

Red flashed her a roguish smile and took her hand, brushing his lips gently to its soft surface while Rosalie stepped in to make the appropriate introductions.

She rested her hand significantly on Red's shoulder. "Maman, c'est ma moitié, Raymond Reddington. Raymond, _this_ is Marietta Armel."

Marietta beamed her delight at the young fugitive, gathering him in her arms as though he were her own son. "We are thrilled to have you with us for the holidays._ Joyeaux Noël_, Raymond dear."

Red was touched by the warm welcome, cradled as he was in a mother's embrace. "Merry Christmas, my dear Madame Armel. It's a pleasure to be invited into your home." He kissed the dimples of her cheeks in turn before emphatically declaring, "I've been dying to meet you."

Marietta let out an elated laugh and pinched his cheek, her throaty voice coming in a conspiratorial whisper. "Please, call me Marietta. We are going to have a grand old time, you and I."

Rosalie tittered and tugged her companion away from his newfound partner in crime, revealing Dembe to her keen gaze.

"Et vous?" Marietta turned to her left and flung her arms wide once more, "_You_ must be Dembe."

The younger man grinned sheepishly, stooping to embrace Marietta and thank her for her hospitality.

"Dembe's a dear, dear friend of ours," Rosalie murmured fondly, turning to wrap Florian in a tight embrace.

"Bonjour, mon trésor." He whispered, squeezing her tightly and pressing his lips to her temple.

His hand extended past Rosalie to Raymond, who took it and shook. "Florian."

The old mobster released his ward, his bear-sized hand still clasped firmly in Reddington's as he stepped toe to toe with him. Icy blue eyes seemed to pierce the very fabric of Red's soul, the kind of look which would crumple a lesser man.

Raymond held his gaze, unflinching.

A stifling silence followed for the space of a heartbeat, the whole of the group waiting with baited breath before a genial smile lifted Florian's features.

"It's good to see you, my boy."

* * *

The Armels lead their guests through the château's bustling interior and toward the staircase leading to the upper floors.

Waiters, maids, housemen and the like scurried every which way, preparing the home's final touches for the affair that evening. A caterer came trotting up to Marietta just as a florist came up alongside Rosalie, both individuals firing off questions in rapid French.

Neither woman missed a step in their response, considering the request for a beat before responding in a smooth, measured lilt.

Red noticed the florist seemed relieved with Rosalie's response, going as far as to hug her and kiss her cheek before hurrying off once more.

Golden spindles of sunlight poured over them as they passed through the entrance hall, its intricate atrium soaring four stories above their heads to a magnificent glass dome.

The floors above were supported by blood red pillars, each resting on a pedestal of white marble which created a barrier of balconettes overlooking the open floor below. The effect was simply breathtaking, bathing the whole of the home in glimmers of refracted light.

Rosalie smiled to herself as they finally reached the foot of the banister at the other end of the hall.

This was one of her most favorite things about the château.

Each wall following the sprawling staircase leading upstairs was painted with a magnificent fresco. The artwork continued throughout every floor; nude maidens bathing in a pool, frolicking through a garden in bloom, draped sensually in fine silks and gossamer, Rosalie knew each one by heart.

Raymond stared at the pieces overlooking the first set of steps for a long moment, his hand resting on the elaborate iron and gold handrail. "Magnificent. Absolutely magnificent."

Rosalie grinned and slipped her arm into his, "I promise you'll get a tour of each and every one before we leave."

The assurance brought a smile to his lips, his hand lifting to rest atop hers.

They followed the staircase up to the third floor, where the home's multitude of bedrooms were.

Florian and Marietta's suite was directly off the stairs, whereupon the two took their leave, allowing Rosalie to get Raymond and Dembe settled while they continued preparations for that evening.

The trio continued on, around the floor's open center to the opposite wing of the house.

The men's heads swiveled back and forth, taking in the unique architectural features and priceless artwork. Heavy doors broke up the ornate moulding here and there, framed by a fresco on each side, leading to rooms as of yet unseen.

They stopped at the last entry on their right, whose doors Rosalie unlatched to reveal an exquisite guest suite. The lavish space was decorated in a traditional Asian style, combining with aspects of Vietnamese design to create an inviting, exotic retreat. The deep red walls held antique calligraphy scrolls, and each hand painted with intricate depictions of landscapes, wildlife, mountains, and people. Ornately carved panels bordered the dark mahogany bed, whose plush mattress could have easily fit three men of Dembe's stature. The heavy curtains draping the bed and the arched windows were a deep peacock blue, giving the entire room a sumptuous allure.

The stone halls outside echoed with loud, booming barks, and Raymond and Dembe had to do a double-take as what appeared to be two small bears came bounding around the corner.

The massive white blurs hurtled up to the woman between them, nearly knocking her flat with their exuberance.

Rosalie squealed before kneeling to hug the giant creatures, practically disappearing into their heavy white fluff.

Red realized what at first glance looked like baby polar bears were in fact two very large dogs. The animals' size and stunning white coats convinced him they were native to the region.

Château d'Aubiry was famously perched in the foothills of the Pyrenees mountains, which delineated the border between France and Spain. Over hundreds of years, a breed known as the Great Pyrenees emerged from the area as a shepherd for sheep and protector of local farms. It was only natural that the Armels, being stewards of one of the region's most historic homes, would choose to keep a few native pets.

The larger of the two dogs trotted up to him, sniffing cautiously at his hand before extending its head, requesting a pat.

Raymond was happy to oblige, "Now who might you be?"

Rosalie was busy cooing in a baby voice to the smaller Pyrenees, cuddling the happy pup to her in a joyous embrace. She stopped at the looks of sheer amusement being directed her way. "What?"

Dembe sniggered, bending at the knees to extend a gentle hand toward the dog. "What are their names?"

"The big fellow by Raymond is Pascal, and this lovely little lady is Odette." Rosalie stood, watching fondly as Pascal took it in turns to be petted by both men while Odette sat obediently at her feet.

"They're yours," Red gathered, seeing Odette poised protectively beside Rosalie, the dog's regal head nearly bumping the woman's hip.

Rosalie nodded, "They act as companions and guard dogs while I am in Céret or Corsica. I used to bring them with me until I essentially moved to South America…" A brief silence fell, and she gave Dembe's arm a squeeze, "We'll leave you to relax for a bit, hmm? The party starts at seven."

He nodded and began to unpack his things, which had been brought ahead of them by the house's staff.

* * *

Raymond and Rosalie took their leave, wandering out of the room and toward the end of the hall. Pascal and Odette flanked them on either side, following them along the familiar path to Rosalie's room.

When they rounded the corner, Red's hands clapped together in recognition, an appreciative sigh leaping from his lungs. "I've seen this place before._ L'eau à la bouche_, that fluffy little ode to 1960's nouvelle vague. Françoise Brion, Alexandra Stewart, and Bernadette Lafont…My god, a ménage à trois if there ever was one. That film had everything, a deceased grandmother with a colossal fortune, her granddaughter falling for the lawyer upon the reading of the will; the whole thing was delightfully absurd, and I hadn't realized it was filmed in this very home."

Rosalie nodded, "That it was, though it was long before Florian bought the place. I'm surprised you've seen the film."

Red's mouth broke into a mischievous grin, "I always did enjoy the trope about the butler and the saucy French maid. I don't suppose you have a feather duster lingering about anywhere, do you?"

Rosalie couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head for his antics. "You're incorrigible."

A pair of ornate double doors occupied the center of the wall marking the end of the home's southernmost wing, a magnificent fresco bordering either side of the entrance.

One was of a fair-haired maiden hidden in the depths of a forest, the tendrils of a weeping willow winding wildly around her arms and torso while she clutched a young babe protectively to her bosom. The other looked to be a wood nymph wandering through a green meadow flush with flowers in bloom, a crown of wild roses adorning her wild curls.

Rosalie flung the double doors wide and Raymond had to admit, the space was not at all what he expected.

There was a certain color palate he associated with his companion, one which instinctively came to mind whenever he thought of her. It was evident in everything she wore: deep forest greens, soft creams, stormy grays, oceanic blues and the occasional warm taupe. Rarely was Rosalie seen in confluences of reds or purples. On the occasion she did don such hues, it was always in the darkest of shades, and the effect was always striking.

The room which expanded before him was indeed striking, and a complete departure from Rosalie's usual style.

The dark wood furniture was all Louis XVI, from the large canopy bed to the cozy seating area with its beautifully embroidered chairs and antique lamps. The walls were a moody indigo with slate undertones, large arching windows occupying the majority of the exterior wall to allow sunlight to pour into the room. The ornate moulding glinted gold in the afternoon sun, drawing Red's eyes upward to the painted ceiling, depicting an epic scene of a trident-wielding Amphitrite standing atop the waves of a raging sea.

She too was nude, save for a clever wisp of pink silk which circled her hips, its tails and her golden hair whipping in the wind behind her. The sky in the scene was nearly black, shocks of white lightning illuminating a few far flung corners of the painting, one strip leading directly to the fingertips of Neptune alongside her. The god of the sea had a formidable look about him, the curls of his white hair and beard swirling wildly in the storm. A swath of blue silk wrapped his shoulder, down his torso and along his hips while two golden cords were clenched in his fist to reign in the pair of white Hippocamps rearing beneath them.

"Remarkable," Red whispered, turning about to further admire the space's impressive interior.

Rosalie stood in the doorway, watching his reaction with keen eyes. "I take it you approve?"

"It really is splendid." He rested his palm on an intricately carved bedpost, the other hand slipping into his trouser pocket. "Your criminal upbringing was certainly different from mine."

His companion gave a non-committal shrug,"Yes, I suppose so."

Raymond laughed aloud, "You suppose, hmm? You were Cinderella-ed away by a mob boss while I was left penniless in a whore house outside of Asunción, and you _suppose_ our experiences were different?"

His teasing brought a bright smile to her features, making them both laugh.

Pascal and Odette were riled by the sound, circling Rosalie in search of attention. "_Mon flâneuses_," she crooned, patting each of the dogs in turn before gesturing to the door, "Aller à Maman, aller."

Pascal went trotting off but Odette remained, circling once then curling up on the enormous Persian rug beside the room's pale stone fireplace.

"You always were a stubborn one." Rosalie sighed and closed the bedroom door, giving them their privacy.

Red sauntered up to her with a bravado which made her cheeks burn hot. "How much time do we have?"

Her lips pursed thoughtfully while masculine arms encircled her waist. "Well…"

His warm mouth placed gentle kisses to her cheeks, her neck.

"I need to shower and do my hair-"

He worked his way down to her shoulder, nipping and laving his tongue over the soft skin there.

"M-my makeup…"

Raymond's deep timbre purred sensually against her pulse point, "Allow me to join you."

"You need to do your makeup too?"

Rosalie's playful quip coaxed a dark chuckle from his mouth, the sound tickling along her skin. "I was _referring_ to the shower."

She let out a little scoff, placing a hand to his chest and creating some space between them. "You, me, naked in the bath? That's a recipe for a tardy slip, if we even make it to the party."

Red shrugged, "I _suppose_ such antics could be considered problematic." He grinned when a soft titter of amusement reached his ears, followed by a groan of dismay.

"Tonight is important. I can't be running late, even for the sake of my lover." Heated gray eyes gave the man one more appreciative once-over, "After the party? All bets are off."

Raymond hummed his intrigue but allowed her to get ready all the same.

She moved across the room to grab her overnight bag, pulling the necessities from its depths while Red continued to stroll the room, admiring the artwork and various trinkets with curiosity.

"I'm sure I'll find a way to occupy myself while you primp and preen. I won't lie, I'm dying to know what a woman like you keeps in her lingerie chests."

* * *

Rosalie was soon showered and draped in a silk dressing gown, taking a seat at her vanity to begin the arduous task of taming her lengthy locks. "Should we discuss how we are going to handle tonight?"

"What do you mean?" Red asked, pulling his tux from its garment bag and hanging it on the valet stand beside the wardrobe.

"Our relationship. We've kept it quiet from the world at large thus far, trusting the truth to only a few close friends and associates. We should come up with a plan for how we will present ourselves. This whole affair is going to involve some of Europe's biggest players; there's no telling who they might inform about our involvement."

Raymond discarded his shirt, hearing a pair of feet tiptoeing behind him. "I'm of the mindset that if someone asks directly, we would answer and request their discretion. If they don't ask, we don't tell. There's no sense in willingly drawing a target on our backs."

Rosalie's arms wrapped around him, her fingertips idly playing through his chest hair while her cheek rested between his shoulder blades. "And if they do ask, what shall I call you?"

Red lifted her hands to his lips, kissing the back of each. "What did you call me when you introduced me to Marietta?"

She breathed a comfortable sigh, pressing her lips to his shoulder before patting his chest fondly. "_Ma moitié_, it's the French equivalent of 'my other half.'"

A soft smile graced his lips, "I'm confident the right pronoun will come to us if and when we have need of it. Until then, I'm perfectly content with your chosen moniker."

* * *

"Raymond Reddington, you open this door right now!"

The man in question chuckled softly to himself from the steamy confines of the ensuite.

It seemed Rosalie had discovered his various misdeeds.

While his counterpart hummed happily in the shower...Red had absconded with every last scrap of lace from her drawers, save for one. He had never been part of a one-man panty raid before, but the prospect had certainly been thrilling. Once he acquired his chosen contraband, the fugitive retreated to the dressing room, locking the trove of delicates in his suitcase and eagerly awaiting her retaliation.

Rosalie burst into the bathroom holding one pair of burgundy silk and lace panties aloft, still clad in her dressing gown.

Red stood at the sink in naught but a towel, serenely patting his cheeks and jawline with aftershave. He had been finishing up when she strode in, ready to chastise him for his thievery.

The sight brought Rosalie's tirade to an immediate, screeching halt.

The echoing silence had Raymond smirking devilishly and all but swaggering across the room. "I believe you came to tell me off?"

His comment was duly ignored. Rosalie closed the last few steps between them and pressed her soft, warm hands to his chest. "More important things have come up." She murmured, leaning forward and placing her lips to his sternum.

The scent of him gave her goosebumps. Rosalie could pick up the scent of his aftershave as her lips trailed up toward his neck. She hummed contentedly, nuzzling just beneath his jaw.

Their previous discussion seemed to have left her body crackling like a live wire. It was only natural that, when confronted with the shirtless object of her arousal, her desire came back ten fold.

When her hands dropped to grasp the towel at his waist, Red snagged her wrists.

"Soon." His tone was pained but appeasing, in truth, he wanted nothing more than for her to continue her intoxicating exploration. However, Raymond was certain they would be late if they started fooling about now, and it would do no good for Florian to come up and catch them en flagrante.

"How about _now_?" Rosalie countered, guiding him back toward the bedroom.

Red moved reluctantly, trying like hell to come up with a reason why they shouldn't while any noble intentions he'd had were rapidly abandoning ship in favor of what she was offering.

Rosalie's lips claimed his mouth, deepening the contact instantly. Her tongue pleaded for entrance, wanting desperately to tangle with his.

Red acquiesced with a husky moan of approval, sucking the little pink muscle teasingly before allowing it to battle with his. He was unyielding in his exploration, dictating the rhythm and depth of the kiss so his partner was soon shivering against him. His large hands grasped at her, pulling her deeper into his influence before one dipped low beneath the hem of her robe.

Raymond couldn't help a deep, rumbling growl as his palm cupped the valley between her legs. The space was hot and her thighs were wet with a slickness which had nothing to do with her earlier shower.

Disregarding their plans, Red fell back onto the bed, taking his wriggling passenger with him.

He rolled to get her beneath him and steadily worked his way down the length of her body toward her hips, where he nipped sharply, earning a loud yelp of surprise.

"You have to be _quiet_ little dove, regardless of what delectable things I might decide to do with you."

"R-Raymond don't do that." Rosalie whined in a whisper, watching his tongue dart out to trail her sex.

"Why?" He questioned impishly, placing an incentivizing kiss to her center.

Rosalie bit back a moan at the direct contact, completely forgetting she had it in her power to wriggle away. "You know I can't be quiet when you…when you _do_ that."

Red chuckled darkly, slipping his tongue deep inside her and fluttering it just how she liked. "You're just going to have to find a way, little dove."

A whimper of pleasure tore from her lips under his tutelage; she was perilously close to losing the upper hand entirely. A chime could be heard from the clock on the mantel, signaling they had thirty minutes before they had to be downstairs, the realization bringing Rosalie back to the present.

"N-no."

"_No_? You were the one who started this." Raymond challenged, lifting his head, placing a playful nip to her thighs when they snapped shut. He wanted to continue his tour of the treasure hidden between those silky limbs, and he was determined she should relent. His fingers wriggled into the tight space to fondle her clit further, reveling in the undeniable arousal pooling there.

He grinned when he felt her resistance waver, providing a bit more room for his fingertips to torment.

"I know, but we have to _stop_," she managed with a bit more conviction, her legs pressing closed once more. She rolled away only to be trapped beneath him.

A growl issued from Red's throat. He didn't like that word, not one bit. He nipped her earlobe in retaliation, making her entire frame tremble with need.

"I want you," he husked in her ear, "I want to taste you, to tongue that sensitive little pearl of yours until I hear my name in that lovely little moan I so enjoy, and I want it _now_."

"We can't, we're out of time," Rosalie mewed, her desire painfully evident as she snuck from his grasp. She managed to make it off the bed this time, tossing a coy smile his way. "You're just going to have to wait, darling."

Raymond glowered from his place on the mattress, distinctly ruffled and looking awfully surly.

Rosalie scurried into the dressing room, trying to hide the playful grin lighting her features.

Her lover came prowling in seconds later, catching her amusement with a heated, predatory stare.

His large hand expertly cuffed the rounded cheek of her backside, eliciting a delighted squeak from his companion.

He knew she liked that. Raymond knew all the things which could bring her trembling to his bed.

"I don't enjoy being denied, Rosalie. Not when I know you're every bit as aroused as I am. You're positively quivering."

"I would never deny you." Rosalie bent provocatively over the vanity's countertop, resting her chin in an upturned palm and pursing her lips in a mock pout. She purposefully swiveled her hips back and forth in front of him, brushing tauntingly against the bulge beneath his towel. "I'm merely suggesting we wait until after the party, love. Are you equally as opposed to waiting?"

"You know I have precious little patience when it comes to my more carnal desires." His hands reached forward to engulf the dip of her waist, watching with avid interest as her slender figure disappeared into his grasp.

She couldn't restrain a soft mew at the feel of his rough palms warming her. "_Good things come to men who wait_. Those carnal desires will give us a ready-made excuse to sneak off when we've had enough of the party."

Red tilted his head, "If not assuaged, those desires will ensure I spend the entirety of this shindig making eyes at you."

"What a pity," her tone teased, "Here I thought you enjoyed a good battle of wills."

His demeanor perked up immediately, "That depends, little dove. What do I get if I survive such a test?"

"I'll let you open one of your Christmas presents early."

"_Oh_?" His eyes lifted to the mirror, catching her watching him intently. "Gifts are always appreciated my dear, but what I'm truly aching for doesn't cost a dime."

A dark spark of mischief lit Rosalie's features. "No? Last time, I recall being forced to pay a whole dollar for _Full Frontal Fugitive_."

Red burst out laughing, recalling that exquisite day in Hong Kong with overwhelming fondness. "Aha, well, I'm afraid you've got me there."

An unspoken bet was being placed between them. Both parties were looking forward to the chess match which would quietly unfold in the midst of a crowded room, its pieces lining up throughout the night in a mental game only they were privy to.

Red leaned and kissed her shoulder, "I hope you're prepared for an eventful evening. I'll be keeping my eyes on my prize."

Rosalie was undeterred, "Whatever will I do knowing a formidable felon of whom I'm already terribly fond, is mentally cataloguing all the wicked ways he plans on making love to me tonight?"

Raymond heard a giggle when he turned to leave the dressing room, forced to step away from temptation itself.

"Oh, and Raymond?"

His eyes crinkled in amusement before he turned back around.

The same lone pair of panties dangled absentmindedly from Rosalie's finger, "_I'm going to need the matching top_."

Red gave a weary sigh, grinning for his lot in life as his companion waggled her eyebrows tauntingly in his direction.

The match had already begun.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Rosalie completed the finishing touches to her attire. Applying a quick drop of perfume to her wrists and neck, she stepped out of the dressing room and into the bedroom.

Red stood at the suite's entrance in the sharpest of black tuxedos, wrangling his cufflinks into submission.

The change from his iconic three-piece suit was a welcome departure, the tux's picture perfect cut outlining the height and breadth of his masculine frame to a T.

"_Wow_."

His head lifted to catch a pair of feminine eyes roaming him in blatant appreciation.

Rosalie's hair was neatly pinned in a twisted chignon at the nape of her neck. A delicate pair of drop earrings dangled from her earlobes, their white diamonds twinkling in the light. The only other jewelry she wore was the ring he had given her that morning. The dark stone stood out against the pale champagne organza of her dress, a small forest in a sea of palest gold.

"I take it you approve?"

Rosalie nodded, reaching to help slip the fiddly cufflink into place. "You're awfully handsome on any given day, but decked in a perfectly tailored tux?" She gave a soft wolf whistle and turned her back to him.

"Zip me?"

Raymond chuckled, taking a moment to appreciate the bare curvature of her spine, trailing a teasing finger down its length. He grasped the zipper's minute tab and pulled it slowly upward, the metal making the faintest ticking sound as each of its teeth clasped securely.

Once finished, Red pressed his lips to Rosalie's exposed shoulder, "I'm going to enjoy taking this off of you later."

"I'll hold you to that, handsome."

"As long as you hold me," he retorted with a smirk, threading her arm through his and leading them both out into the hallway.

Dembe stepped out of his room when they rounded the corner, outfitted in an all-black tuxedo.

Rosalie let out a long whistle, slipping her other arm through his. "Hey there, slick."

Raymond sniggered to himself, "Careful Dembe, I think you may have an admirer."

"He's going to be beating the ladies away with a stick."

Dembe shook his head at Rosalie's goading, refusing to add fuel to the fire.

The two fugitives shared a conspiratorial glance when they finally reached the bottom of the staircase.

"Don't worry sweetheart, we'll keep you safe." Rosalie ushered them both toward the parlour with but one sage warning, "Just avoid _Solange_...she bites."

A stunning young woman with dark hair and a dazzling smile turned at the sound of her name. She caught sight of Dembe and blushed, shaking her head to indicate the scandalous rumor Rosalie had just instigated had absolutely no merit.

Dembe followed a chortling Raymond with but one scandalized look at Rosalie, who waved impishly back at him.

* * *

Red and Dembe entered the room ahead of Rosalie, who lingered back to enter with the Armels, as was her place. The two hardly made it five feet into the room before being pounced upon by a pretty young waitress.

"Bonjour, Messieurs, these are for you." She held out a tray bearing two tall champagne flutes, "The one on the left is for Monsieur Zuma. Mademoiselle Øllegaard intimated your dietary preferences and the staff has been notified accordingly."

Dembe bestowed a rare smile and lifted his glass in thanks, "Merci Beaucoup."

Raymond took his glass with a nod and turned to the crowd. "Rosalie wasn't kidding," he murmured in an undertone, "I'm counting a couple dozen key players in the immediate vicinity."

The extravagant parlour was bursting at the seams with international fugitives, crime lords, and syndicate bosses from every corner of Europe. Were it not for the Armel's reputation and the evening's strict no-weapons policy, a number of these individuals would not be able to coexist in the same room. As it was, Red could easily see the separations of factions in the crowded room.

The Sicilians were staunchly avoiding the Stiddari, who refused to turn their backs on the members of the High Camorra, who in turn could not be bothered with the likes of anyone other than their own kind.

Every European country seemed represented in some way, while high profile locales like Italy, France, Germany, and Britain boasted more than one faction. Members of several warring factions bestowed a curt nod to Reddington as he passed by, having known him or done business with him in the past half dozen or so years.

Dembe took a long sip of his sparkling cider, "We knew the Armels were well connected. They're the top of the food chain in European operations, outstripping everyone except for the Geneva syndicate."

An ominous cracking sound issued from Raymond's jaw when the sea of guests parted to reveal the very man they were discussing.

"Oh hell…"

* * *

"Bienvenue and Welcome, new friends, old friends, former enemies and newfound allies."

Florian's booming voice carried over the din of the room with ease, drawing all eyes to the front of the parlour where he, Marietta, and Rosalie stood.

"My family and I are all thrilled to host you all once more for the celebration of another prosperous year. Tonight, we invite you to eat, drink, and make merry as gratitude for the friends and allies who make our world complete. May fair fortune smile on us all in the new millennium."

The attendees applauded, raising their glasses in a toast to their hosts. A string quartet began to play from a far corner of the room, and the guests returned to their conversations once more.

Rosalie took a quick look around the room, searching for her closest companions.

She caught sight of Dembe standing guard about a foot from Raymond, who was speaking to an absolute lion of a man with fair hair and a towering build whom Rosalie recognized immediately.

His name was Werner Von Hauser. The man's syndicate held the keys to every shipping route and private air strip in and out of Europe. One could not do business in the continent properly without having the blessing of Von Hauser Senior. Rosalie had met him in November of '93, a year after the poor man had lost his only son to a kidnapping gone awry and mere weeks after Rosalie first went to live with the Armel's.

Florian had orchestrated the meeting, as Rosalie had needed both men's' blessings to begin expanding her network throughout Europe.

Like many crime bosses, Werner was first and foremost a gentleman. He had been thoroughly intrigued by Rosalie's business plan, investing heavily in her Western Europe expansions in exchange for early access to the network. Thankfully, the investment was returned with considerable interest, and Rosalie had been out from under the debt she had owed him for a while now.

Their working relationship was significantly less involved, but she still provided Werner access to her homes whenever he was in a pinch or when needed to travel in a locale where he did not already own a property.

Werner and Raymond appeared to know each other rather well, if their body language was anything to go by.

Rosalie watched the exchange for a long moment, making the necessary greetings to guests as they passed by when Red finally looked directly at her.

Their eyes met and held, her companion laid bare to Rosalie's scrutiny.

He was putting on a good show, but Raymond was visibly uncomfortable. She could see the tension hidden in his jawline and moved to intercept post haste.

"Hello Werner, it's been an awfully long time."

The older of the two gentlemen turned at the warm welcome, his intimidating demeanor now directed at Rosalie.

"Well, well, look who we have here!" Werner stooped to bestow a chaste kiss to each of her cheeks, "Raymond my boy, I don't suppose you've met Florian's young protegé? This is Rosalie Øllegaard, she's runs an extensive network of luxury safehouses throughout Europe."

The two fugitives shared a secretive smile.

Red lifted her hand and placed a lingering kiss to its surface. She could feel him inhale a deep, calming breath, the warm exhale ghosting soothingly over her skin. "It's a delight to see you again, my dear."

"_Raymond,_" Rosalie turned to Werner and explained, "Your associate and I have had the pleasure of working opposite sides on a handful of deals this year. I had a number of expansions negotiated with hotel groups worldwide, and Ray happened to be the broker."

Von Hauser's brows lifted in surprised intrigue, "I had no idea, you must be doing well if they've got Raymond involved."

"There was also that little exchange in Geneva." Raymond smirked, bringing up their cover from the altercation with Howard Bukowski and the Coroner.

Rosalie's eyes narrowed playfully, "You just _love_ bringing that up. Don't you?"

A cheery hand appeared over the heads of the crowd, waving Von Hauser toward the bar.

The man let out an amused chuckle, "Oh, my apologies, there is an old friend requesting my presence. It's been great seeing you both."

He hugged Rosalie and reached out to shake Red's hand once more, leaning to murmur in the other man's ear. "Careful with her, Raymond. Florian is notoriously protective of his daughter. Word on the street says she's absolutely lethal as well."

Werner gave him a subtle wink, nodded to Dembe, then patted Rosalie's cheek and took his leave.

Rosalie watched the man wander off into the crowd, waiting until she could only see the top of his head before turning to Raymond. He was still tracking Von Hauser across the room, his pallor a sickly green.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Raymond visibly flinched, his eyes snapping from Werner to Rosalie. "Fine, I'm fine. You know Werner?"

"In passing. He invested in my network in the early days." She looked suspiciously between the two men, "Florian mentioned the two of you struck quite the alliance. I always wondered how you managed to move so easily in Eastern Europe, now I know."

Red was still a little pale, but he quickly brushed it off, turning in search of a server. "I don't suppose there are any more of those gruyere pastry puffs lurking around, is there?"

The diversion tactic did not go unnoticed. Rosalie leaned into his ear and murmured, "I'll get you all the gougères your heart desires if you assure me everything's okay."

Raymond nodded, his voice coming as a low whisper. "Everything's fine, little dove. I just hadn't expected to see him here."

The endearment combined with the weight of his hand at the small of her back served to soothe her concerns.

A tray of gougères appeared mysteriously along with a handful of other guests, some were Raymond's acquaintances, others were part of Rosalie's circle. Syndicate bosses, associates and independent contractors alike spoke with them at length about everything under the sun. All were polite, friendly and well-spoken, making the cocktail hour pass quite quickly and pleasantly.

Dembe and Rosalie were laughing with the very Solange she had warned about when Red noticed a young criminal with jet black hair and a mean-looking demeanour watching their group quite closely.

"Is that Victor Mesrine?"

Rosalie rotated slowly, looking over Raymond's shoulder at the person in question. "Yes, nephew of the notorious Jacques Mesrine. Victor is well-known in French circles. He's a bit of a problem child, but nothing too nefarious."

Raymond lifted baleful eyes toward the man in question, who wisely averted his gaze from the pair.

Rosalie gave his forearm a comforting squeeze, "Pay him no mind, he'll be gone in no time. The real fun happens after the meal, when the rest of the guests leave. The after-dinner cocktails and cigars are always family and Le Milieu only."

* * *

Dinner was a lavish affair, the immaculately set table stretching nearly the whole length of the enormous formal dining room. They enjoyed course after course of haute French cuisine from consommé to caviar, steamed shellfish to braised lamb shanks.

Raymond enjoyed the meal immensely. Between the food, the superb wine selections, and the silk stocking-clad toes playing footsie with him beneath the table, it was a delightful evening.

The noise was kept to a low rumble, allowing the guests to hear their companions without issue as they dined and discussed their various businesses at length.

Red and Rosalie were far too busy attempting to silently out maneuver one another to pursue many conversations of consequence. Regardless, they were both of the mindset that they spent enough time talking shop. Tonight, there were much more exciting things to discuss.

"I haven't the foggiest idea how you've managed to sneak your foot that far up my pant leg."

Rosalie smiled unassumingly and took another scoop of sorbet to cleanse her palate. "You should know by now, I'm quite bendy."

The quip caused Marietta to laugh heartily into her wine glass. She was seated on Rosalie's immediate right.

"Sorry about that, Maman..." Rosalie apologized sheepishly, her cheeks flushing a bright pink at being caught outright.

Red too was chuckling into his wine glass, carefully avoiding drawing further attention to themselves.

"Smooth," he taunted in a whisper, reaching over and placing his hand on her inner thigh.

It was a simple gesture, and there were at least three layers of fabric between Raymond's hand and her skin, but he could tell the action set Rosalie's entire body on high alert. He squeezed gently, allowing her to feel the full width and breadth of his hand on her, so very close to such an intimate area.

It felt as though a fire had broken out between his palm and the surface of her thigh, the heat transference between them making Red's pulse race as well.

His thumb had just begun to trace maddening circles along her skin when dessert was served, a perfectly light and fluffy gâteaux.

Rosalie was spared by the distraction, as her companion's sweet tooth won out for the time being.

Raymond spared but one parting squeeze before taking up his fork and devouring the delectable slice with gusto.

* * *

At half past ten it was finally time for the excess guests to part.

Members of Le Milieu and the Unione Corse filed into the smoking lounge, settling in to plush leather chesterfields, upholstered club chairs and the occasional bar stool as they wound down the night.

The respective bosses were all prepping cigars and pipes when Florian noticed his preferred lighter, an anniversary gift from his Marietta, was missing from its usual place.

"You left it in our room, mon cher." Marietta reminded, pointing to the ceiling above.

"I'll get it, Pére." Rosalie hadn't yet taken a seat and would be happy for a brief respite from all the socializing.

Florian beamed appreciatively, "Merci, mon trésor. I believe it is on our coffee table, if it's not too much trouble."

Rosalie smiled and waved off his concern, stepping out into the cool hallway and taking her time on her way up the flights of stairs.

Raymond watched from his spot at the bar as she left, contentedly prepping a cigar and holding it out for Dembe, who politely declined, as always.

"I believe I owe you an apology, young man."

Red turned to see Florian upon him, having just finished packing his pipe with tobacco.

He slapped his back in open camaraderie and rested his elbows on the bar beside Raymond. "I was hard on you back in August. I hope you understand I only want what's best for Rosalie. I spoke with Horace when he returned to us and it seems I misjudged your intentions."

Raymond blinked repeatedly, rather surprised by this sudden declaration. "I didn't realize Horace had spoken to you about me."

"He did," Florian nodded, "He had nothing but uncomplimentary things to say about you."

A scowl took over Red's features, a bubble of indignation bursting inside his gut.

Florian smiled sagely at his sudden change of demeanour. "That is how I know you're a decent man with good intentions where my Rosalie is concerned. I trusted Horace. In my eyes, he was the only acceptable choice for my daughter's personal guard; the only man worthy of being the silent gatekeeper to her empire. He took the job of right hand to a high profile criminal and left when she showed her stripes. His opinion is now worth about as much to me as this napkin."

A server came over and poured them each a glass of their preferred vintage.

"One could imagine your fury when he turned up on your doorstep in Corsica."

Florian's shrewd blue eyes zeroed in on Red, "You had him followed."

Raymond gave a curt nod, "He had intimate knowledge of Rosalie's operation, and to a lesser extent, my own. I couldn't simply take for granted that he had returned to your employ."

"_À la nôtre_," Florian lifted his cognac in a toast, taking a drink. "I don't fault you for following him, it's what I would have done. I've made it abundantly clear if he so much as breaths a word about either of you it will be the end of him."

A poignant silence settled for the span of a few minutes as both men sipped their drinks in a pensive fashion.

"I wanted to thank you for your involvement in the expansions these past several months." Florian added after a while, "I will not lie, I was terribly concerned when all of this came about. Horace abandoned her at the worst possible moment, left her in the eye of a storm to fend for herself. Yet you were there. You battened the hatches and sheltered her from the worst of it. For that I am in your debt."

Raymond had to admit he was pleasantly surprise by the man's attitude, considering the last time they had spoken, Red threatened to bounce Florian from his plane in the middle of nowhere.

"The anger has yet to abate for me," the other man confided, continuing where he left off, "Horace will remain in my employ for the foreseeable future. He knows too much to be fired and Rosalie would never forgive me if I shot him. Otto Henschke is keeping an eye on him for me. If he so much as blinks in the wrong direction we will know immediately."

"How is Otto?" Red asked, "I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since Rosalie removed him from her guard."

Florian shrugged, "He's doing just fine. He was loyal to me, so I put him right back into his previous role with the Corsicans as one of the guards to our estate on Corsica."

"And Horace?" Red deduced from the concise language that Horace Jabare was no longer guarding anyone in the Armel's immediate circle.

"Like I said, he left her at the worst possible moment. He is helping run security for this house, but nothing more intensive than that. He seems content."

"Who has taken his place, the boisterous fellow over there? I noticed he was seated at your right hand pretty much all evening."

Both Reddington and Florian spared a glance for the youth across the room. He had the look of _les beaux voyous_...haughty features, a steady hand and a cocksure posture. He seemed genial enough, if the body language of his compatriots was anything to go by. In all, he gave the impression of a poster boy for new money fugitives.

"Achille Fabron, my eventual successor, if he ever manages to remove his head from his backside."

Raymond snorted with laughter as the man flashed a dazzling smile from beneath his reddish brown beard. "He certainly looks like a rapscallion in the making."

Florian sighed, "Between you and I, I would much rather hand Rosalie the reigns. Achille has the credentials but he makes me nervous. He reminds me of myself when I was young and foolhardy."

"You turned out alright upon becoming the active boss." Raymond chuckled at Florian's commiserating glance before something about the room made his hair stand on end.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

"Yes, I came out alright in the end but I had no other choice. I wasn't given my role, I was thrust into it upon Marcel Francisci's demise. That circumstance put the fear of God in me. Abdicating now would be tantamount to handing Achille the keys to Europe, all the while crossing my fingers in hope that he doesn't turn out to be a tyrant-"

Florian suddenly sensed the change as well, his eyes quickly scanning the room as unease settled into his bones, "Something isn't right, I can feel it."

Red let out a hiss of discontent when he recognized whom he had not seen leaving the party.

"Where's that little weasel Victor Mesrine?"

* * *

Rosalie had just stepped into the master suite, the immaculate bay of rooms was pitch black until she managed to locate a lamp on a nearby side table. She flipped its switch, allowing her a generous sphere of light in what was still a very large, very dark room.

She heard a rustling sound and jumped, only to see Pascal stirring from his place on the floor.

The dog sauntered toward the bedroom door, sniffing curiously at the hall.

"There's nothing for you to eat out there. Bernard might have a few leftovers for you tomorrow, but nothing for today."

Rosalie carefully wound her way through the various end tables, sofas and chairs to the coffee table, where a heavy gold lighter lay, its intricate etchings flickering in the lamp's low light.

Pascal issued a deep, warning growl.

The sound caused Rosalie to whip around once more, seeing nothing but the partially closed bedroom door.

All the hairs on Pascals spine were standing on end. His stance was rigid, and his eyes would not leave the door.

Rosalie quickly pocketed the lighter and tiptoed to the other side of the room, keeping out of sight as the door swung a little wider. She pulled a firearm from beneath the nearest nightstand and eased closer and closer to the door. Taking a steadying breath, she reached and grasped the handle. Another deep breath in and out, and she ripped the door open, aiming out into the dark hall.

No one was there.

Rosalie lowered her weapon and scowled at the dog. "Really, Pascal? That was hardly nec-"

Cold metal met the back of Rosalie's head, and a rough male voice whispered, "_Don't make a sound, cherie. Don't even breath_."

* * *

Florian nodded at the three men standing at the bar with them, and all six quietly slipped out of the lounge, making a run for the stairs.

They hurried up the three flights, Dembe reaching the top first with Red hot on his heels. The moment his right foot hit the landing a number of loud, vicious barks echoed from the Armel's bedroom.

* * *

"You and I are going to take a little trip to see a friend of mine."

"Mesrine." Rosalie caught his reflection in an antiqued mirror on the fireplace's mantel.

Victor reached forward, wrenching the loaded gun from her hands then tossed it on the bed and continued nudging her forward. "Yes. Now, if you want to make it out of here alive, I suggest you get moving. We're going to take the hidden passage to the elevator."

"How do you know about that?" She asked, trying to stall as long as humanly possible.

"No questions." Victor grabbed the back of her neck and used the leverage to force her forward.

A number of things happened all at once.

Pascal sensed his owner was being harmed and began to bark and snarl furiously at the intruder, sinking his teeth into Mesrine's ankle when he did not desist.

Rosalie took the opportunity and swung her arm out, catching Victor in the wrist and sending his firearm flying. A fight ensued as both attempted to reach the weapon first.

A number of footsteps could be heard scrambling toward the room when another intruder burst through the door to the hidden passage, using the handle of his gun to knock Victor to the ground.

The man crumpled into an unconscious heap, and a muscular arm thrust out to catch Rosalie around the middle before she could fall headlong into a glass side table.

She lifted her head and found herself nose to nose with a familiar face.

"_Horace_?"

* * *

The six men burst into the room just in time to see Victor crumple to the floor while Horace kept his former charge from being thrown forcefully into some nearby furniture.

Florian's nostrils flared as he stared down the barrel of his firearm. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I was making my rounds and saw him follow her up the stairs." Horace snapped irritably, carefully setting Rosalie back on her feet. His dark eyes narrowed to slits as carefully checked her for injuries before turning back to his employer.

Each of the five men plus Florian had guns trained on Rosalie's former guard, but Raymond and Dembe quickly lowered theirs.

"Glad to see we all followed the 'No Weapons Policy' as requested." Red joked, turning about to count the number of offenders who had thankfully ignored the house rules.

The other men smirked, holstering their weapons as well. They watched in stoic silence while Raymond strode past them, gathering Rosalie into a meaningful embrace.

"Are you alright? He didn't hurt you?"

Pointed looks were exchanged as the young woman relaxed into his hold, a heavy sigh of relief rushing from her lips.

"I'm perfectly fine, love."

The three mobsters at the back of the group nodded to one another, finally understanding the dynamic between the two young fugitives.

"Explain." Florian growled at Horace, his gun still firmly in hand.

Horace holstered his weapon and held his hands up in deference. "I turned at the end of the main hall and saw Mesrine follow her up the stairs. To save time, I took the hidden passage up to the third floor. I exited the elevator to the sounds of an altercation and found the two of them here in a fist fight over a firearm."

"It's true, Pére. Horace arrived just in time." Rosalie knew there was no love lost between Florian and her old guard but she, for one, was grateful that Horace was there and vigilant.

The unconscious man at their feet began to stir, his head lifting feebly before falling with a thud on the floor.

"Caïd."

It was the tallest of the three mobsters, a man with fair hair and a brooding complexion. His arm was in a black sling overtop his tux, the perfect hiding spot for his firearm, which he stowed with but one careless glance at Florian.

"We need to move him somewhere the others won't hear. Le Milieu, they would consider such an act a declaration of war. We need to divine whether or not he was working alone before getting the others involved."

Florian took a step toward Rosalie, placing a comforting hand to her curls, almost as if to assure himself of her safety. His gaze turned to the man with the sling. "Jacques, please locate my wife and bring her with you to the lower chamber."

Jacques gave a swift nod and exited the room. The two men flanking him stepped forward and hoisted Victor from the floor, dragging him out of the room with his feet trailing limply behind him.

Rosalie stepped away from Raymond for a moment, leaning to peak around Florian's shoulder. "Thank you, Horace."

He gave a small salute, "Don't mention it, Rosie. I'm glad you're okay."

A somewhat awkward silence settled, the room's occupants shuffling uncomfortably before Florian let out a huff of frustration.

"Mon Fille, downstairs. Now. Raymond, please escort her."

The fugitives left the room without argument, making for the stairs with Dembe in tow.

"This was unexpected," Red slipped Rosalie's hand through his arm, keeping her tight to his side. "You're sure you're alright? Did Victor mention what he wanted with you?"

She shook her head, "No, he only said he was going to take me to a friend of his. He knew about the secret passage out of the master suite too, which was unnerving."

The three reached the landing on the first floor and Rosalie halted their momentum.

"What?" Red asked, having expected them to return to the lounge.

"I need to go to the lower chamber, Marietta is likely there already."

Dembe remained close, circling back to stand beside his friend. "What is the lower chamber?"

Rosalie's expression turned dark, "It's the stone underbelly of the house. Certain illegal artifacts are hidden there, as are a couple holding cells. Florian is not the type to sweep things under the rug. He wants answers, and he won't return to the others until he has them."

Raymond considered her for a moment, "If his plan is to bludgeon the truth out of Victor, why would he request Marietta's presence?"

"The Armels are and have always been a singular unit. One does not act without the other." Rosalie's chin lifted and her shoulders settled back, her posture straightening with the action.

Red softened at her body's attempt to fortify itself for what must come next. "This includes you."

She nodded, "You and Dembe should go back to the party, you needn't be subjected to this."

He could sense she wished not to go alone. However, Rosalie knew better than anyone how rare it was that Raymond was the one being protected from the filth and violence of their world. True to form, she had selflessly given him an out.

"Dembe, please go and enjoy yourself. Rosalie and I will be back momentarily."

Dembe did not argue, glad to be relieved of duty in this instance. He gave them both a squeeze to the shoulder before heading back to the quiet of the lounge.

"This life often weighs heavy on him, I know it. It weighs heavy on you both." Rosalie cupped Red's cheek and gently turned him to face her. "Really Raymond, it's so seldom you're spared from all of this. I don't need you to-"

"I know you don't." He turned to place his lips to her palm, "However, Florian and Marietta shouldn't be the only singular unit in this house. You and I could stand to learn from their example."

"Really?" Rosalie's features remained carefully guarded, "You're sure?"

Red took her hand in his, "Lead the way, little dove."

She hesitated for a beat, seeming to search him for any lingering uncertainty. Raymond assumed she found what she was looking for, as she gave his hand a squeeze and led him into a hairpin turn away from the foot of the stairs.

They passed a fresco of yet another maiden, but this one was depicted beside a pillar topped with a roaring fire. From this panel's moulding, Rosalie managed to pull a brass key.

Turning toward the east wall, she slid the key into a lock hidden in the surface of the red marble pillar they were hidden behind.

The panel in front of them sprung open a fraction of an inch, and Rosalie opened it just wide enough to allow Raymond and herself entrance. The space looked to be nothing more than a small, empty linen closet upon first glance. The key was left in the lock for Florian, whom they knew would be following them in a matter of moments. Once the panel was closed, the room revealed its true nature as an elevator.

The floor beneath them vibrated for a few minutes as the lift brought them down into the depths of the château. It halted with a small lurch and the door opened to reveal a long stone tunnel, its length flanked with sconces casting a hazy yellow glow.

Rosalie took his hand once more and lead the way along the cobbled walkway which opened into a soaring atrium. The room was shaped as an elongated octagon with small hallways leading out of the center toward various holding cells and storage cellars for contraband.

"Cherie."

Marietta came sweeping toward them from the nearest hallway, gathering Rosalie in her arms and letting out a long, calming exhale.

The two women whispered in rapid French, sharing confidences about what had happened. The frenchman whose arm was in a sling gave Reddington a singular nod.

The reunion was broken up by the sound of a heavy metal gate clanging closed. The two other men who had accompanied them upstairs exited the archway directly opposite them, dragging Victor Mesrine between them.

It became obvious once his limp frame was deposited into a wooden chair in the center of the room, there had been a bit of coercion going on while the respective parties made their way to the lower chamber.

Blood dripped steadily from Victor's nose, the crimson river already covering the top half of his dress shirt. One of his eyes was beginning to swell shut, and Red was certain from its unnatural angle, his left arm had already been broken. Regardless, the two men handcuffed him to the chair with little regard to injuries.

* * *

Another clang was soon heard, and the room's occupants turned to see three men striding purposefully through the main tunnel.

Achille stood to the left while a dark-haired young man Rosalie had identified as Cedric stood on the right, and Florian Armel occupied the middle, taking up a majority of the hallway's width.

As he stood in the mouth of the tunnel removing his tuxedo jacket, Red was forcefully reminded that there was a reason why Rosalie had always referred to Florian as _l'ours._

_The bear._

It was easy to forget, with the man's amiable reputation as a dapper gentleman, that Florian Armel was in fact an active _caïd_, the boss of the Corsican Mafia. An evening of pomp and circumstance, family and friends, they all made it very easy to be lured into a false sense of security.

That was Victor's fatal error. He allowed himself to believe the lie, that the Armel's would ever let their guard down, even for a night.

They most certainly did not, and the true power of that family was about to come crashing down around him.

Florian carefully removed his cufflinks, placing them in Rosalie's upturned palms for safekeeping. His sleeves were meticulously rolled up, baring his powerful forearms to the cold room. In all that time, his eyes did not once leave his captive.

One look from Florian's icy gaze was enough to give a man frostbite, and the look he spared for the intruder to his domain was enough to suck all the air from the atrium.

The volatile stare was broken for only one member of the group.

Marietta.

Raymond looked on in undeniable curiosity as Florian Armel turned to his wife, looking very much as though he were silently conferring with her, seeking her agreement.

Marietta lifted her chin, her petite shoulders squaring themselves and her bosom puffing proudly at her husband's attention. The glinting amber of her eyes blinked only once before she placed her left hand to his chest, directly above his heart.

Red caught the most minute bow of Florian's head. The man then lifted his wife's hand, placed a kiss to her palm, and turned to the room at large once more.

Rosalie took her place at Marietta's side, both women standing straight-backed and unflinching.

Victor had enough sense to cower at the fury being directed at him.

Florian took two strides, coming within three feet of him and resting his hands on his knees.

"I want to know who gave you the idea that you could lay a finger on my daughter?"

The question was met with terrified silence.

A grave mistake.

In the blink of an eye, he lifted his leg and kicked out, catching Victor's shoulder and sending the wooden chair flying backward with him in it. "I'm not known for being a patient man, Victor. Now, who sent you to take her?"

"Please!...I can't say!"

Watching Florian Armel was like a masterclass in intimidation techniques. Red couldn't help but make a few mental notes of the more impressive tactics used.

What was perhaps most unnerving about the whole exchange was the calmness with which Florian interrogated Mesrine. His voice never rose, he never seemed harried or exasperated. He was perfectly serene, even as he threw the other man bodily across the room for the umpteenth time. The man could give Ted Brimley a run for his money.

"Oh you'll speak. Of that much I am absolutely certain." Florian issued a low, hollow chuckle and motioned for two of his men to return the chair to its sitting position. "The question is whether you'll tell me what I want to know before or after I begin ripping you limb from limb with my bare hands."

Victor visibly paled at the statement, beginning to mutter and plead in a low, frantic voice.

Florian moved slowly toward him, taking slow, agonizing steps.

"The chair you're in has been in this chamber for over a century. Do you know why?"

The younger man shook his head vigorously, "N-No, no wait..._wait_!"

His pleas were ignored. With a snap of his fingers, Florian had the hand cuff removed from Victor's right hand. Before the man could do anything with the appendage, Florian had snatched his wrist and laid the limb flat against the arm of the chair.

His expression was positively jovial as he divulged the answer. "I've found this chair's arms are the prefect angle for dislocating elbows."

A tiny bit of pressure on his arm was all it took for Victor to crack.

"No, no, no! I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!"

A chair was immediately drawn up across from Victor, who was panting in abject terror. Florian wasted little time in drilling him for intel, making it no secret that the fate of Victor's remaining limbs depended on his helpfulness.

"Begin."

Victor exhaled a shaky breath and obeyed, "I was approached by a man two weeks ago at an underground nightclub in Corsica. A German fellow cornered me in the bathroom..."

Raymond and Rosalie turned to one another, sharing a look of gobsmacked recognition.

_Surely this couldn't be the same German they'd been hunting since August?_

Victor went on, "He provided me with a floorplan of the château including the locations of all the secret passages. I was to wait until Ms. Øllegaard was alone, take her, and escape through the passageways.

Florian's upper lip twitched in a snarl, "What were you to do upon securing her?"

"An associate was supposed to make contact, I'm not sure where or when, then we were to take her to the Port of Leucate, where his associate would be waiting."

Red stepped forward at this, "What time frame were you given to bring her to the Port of Leucate?"

"Within the hour," Victor sputtered around a mouthful of blood, "He is expecting me at the main dock before midnight."

Florian gave a curt nod. "Jacques?"

The man in the sling looked to his two compatriots. "Francis, Christopher and I will go. We have time to catch the associate if we hurry."

A wave of Florian's hand, and they were off, striding swiftly down the tunnel and into the elevator.

Attention returned to Victor, who quailed in his seat, afraid of what might come next.

"You will live, for now," Florian assured, "If my men can't manage to find your rat-faced friends, however, I will extract every drop of information you possess then leave you here to rot. Understood?"

Victor's bloodshot eyes dilated in abject terror, a minute nod the only thing confirming he had heard Florian's warning.

The latter stood, turning to the room at large, "Cedric, Achille, return him to the holding cell. We're finished here."

* * *

"You and Raymond should feel free to retire. I'll let Dembe know you've returned to your room." Marietta had turned once the orders were given, giving her daughter an out from the rest of the evening.

Rosalie hugged her in thanks, then moved to whisper in Raymond's ear. "Care to sneak off into the night?"

He nodded fervently, stepping aside to kiss Marietta's cheek before snagging Rosalie's arm and leading her hurriedly back to the elevator.

They rode in silence back to the third floor, emerging in the corridor closest to the stairs.

The walk back to Rosalie's room was tense and uncomfortable. The pair felt like they couldn't say anything until they were in the sanctuary of their room.

Upon reaching the entrance, they both halted, drawing their weapons. Raymond from the small of his back, Rosalie from her upper thigh.

The doors swung wide to reveal Pascal and Odette, pacing nervously around the sitting area.

The two fugitives moved swiftly and silently through the suite, checking every room and passageway for any sign of intruders.

Once the bank of rooms had been cleared, they both let out a long, exhausted breath.

"How did he find us here?"

"I think you mean how did he find _you_ here." Red growled, setting his gun on the nightstand and toeing off his shoes.

"Excuse me?" Rosalie turned from the vanity where she had been removing her earrings, gaping incredulously at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he snapped, "All I'm saying is that it's been made pretty clear the German is after you."

"Oh, I see, and that's somehow my fault?" She pitched the earrings onto the tabletop with a disgruntled huff and moved to the ensuite to remove her makeup.

Raymond heaved a sigh and removed his jacket, "I'm not saying it's your fault, I'm saying I don't understand what he wants with you."

Rosalie's voice echoed clearly from the bath, "Fisi made it pretty clear the German was trying to get to me so he could lure _you_ out of my network, thus making you easier to catch. I seem to be targeted as the middle man."

"Oh, so now it's _my_ fault?" Red stuck his head into the bathroom, catching her brushing her teeth with angry vigor.

She huffed at seeing him in the doorway, grumbling around her toothbrush, "That's not what I meant and you damn well know it."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

Raymond couldn't seem to help the snarky comeback, which was promptly met with a carton of tissues being chucked at his shoulder when he turned to retreat.

Rosalie spat the remaining toothpaste into the sink, rinsing her mouth out and drying her hands with but one querulous look at her lover.

He bent at the knees and picked up the flimsy carton. In truth, he had barely registered the item making contact with him. He strode over to the sink and silently placed the item back where it belonged.

"That wasn't nice, _little dove_."

"You started it, _darling_."

Rosalie turned, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a way which Red was struggling not to find endearing. He thought perhaps by pitching the tissues at him and calling him 'darling' she had been trying to derail the conversation to somewhere more pleasant, but one look at her delicate features told him she was not about to bite.

She hurled a glare his way and stomped back toward the bedroom. "Stop smirking at me like that. I don't appreciate you making me feel like this is my fault."

They were still arguing, then.

Red could contend with that. His discontented psyche readily offered up a bit of intel which had been bothering him all night.

"When were you going to tell me the entire European underground is convinced you're the heir apparent to the Corsicans?" He stood in the doorframe with a stony expression, watching Rosalie's eyes roll exasperatedly in the vanity mirror.

"A red herring if there ever was one...I wasn't planning on telling you because I was never going to take the job."

Raymond caught the turn of phrase "So, Florian _has_ approached you about taking over his syndicate."

"I'm sorry, now you're pissed over me being offered an empire I have no inclination of running? While we're discussing dirty secrets lingering between us, why don't you tell me what on God's green earth happened between you and Werner Von Hauser?"

He halted, "What about Von Hauser?"

"You lied to my face, telling me you were fine when you were white as a sheet. What was that all about?"

"Don't change the subject," Red dodged, his face contorting with suspicion. "Florian's offered you the Corsicans and you weren't going to say a damn word to me about it."

Rosalie threw her hands up in the air, her irritation complete. "_Yes_. He's offered it a number of times, but time and again I've turned him down. Florian makes no secret of the fact that he wishes I would take over, but in case you haven't noticed, I've been rather busy building my own business. I'm an innkeeper by nature, I think he's found a reasonable alternative in Achille, I like what I do, and I'm good at it. And, not that it's anybody's business but my own, but I don't think I could handle it. Being deep in the filthy underground all day every day, the kinds of things he's had to do...I think it would smother every good thing in me."

Raymond was pointedly silent.

Her world was not built that way, true, but _his_ most certainly was. He was eyeballs deep in the darkest parts of the underground every damn day, and he knew how it left its mark. That being said, Red found himself rather put out by her declaration.

She noticed his uncharacteristic lack of response. "What?"

"Nothing." He stepped back into the ensuite to brush his teeth.

Rosalie bit back the diatribe she longed to hurl his way, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing audibly once more.

She walked over to place her ring on her nightstand and saw the button down Red had been wearing earlier that day laying unassumingly on her pillow.

Even in the midst of an argument, Raymond was still thoughtful.

Rosalie, on the other hand...it dawned on her that she had essentially told Red working in the depths of the underground sucked the goodness out of a person; out of _him_. Hanging her head, she grasped the garment and stepped back into the bathroom, coming up alongside him and turning around, silently requesting he unzip her.

"I recall you mentioning how much you were looking forward to taking this off tonight."

Red dried his mouth and hands on a nearby towel, then grasped the tab of her zipper, slowly guiding it down her spine to the small of her back.

He couldn't deny he had been looking forward to baring that slip of skin, watching with heated curiosity as every little freckle and curve was made visible to him. It didn't soothe his frustrations, however. The satisfaction he would normally feel was somewhat hollowed by the fact they were arguing and a resolution was still out of reach.

Rosalie caught his dispassionate gaze in the mirror, "Can we talk about it? Please. I don't want us to just brush this aside."

Raymond sighed heavily, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Can't we just go to bed and pretend this didn't happen?"

He wished she would let it go. All he really wanted to do was crawl between the cool cotton sheets and spend the rest of that wretched night wrapped up in her.

Someone had once again tried and failed to take Rosalie from him, and Raymond was terrified they would eventually succeed. Fate had favored them thus far, but it was unrealistic to believe they would always be this lucky. How long could they last before she paid the price for her association with him?

"It's not like you to just push things aside..." Rosalie knew she was treading dangerous territory, her posture shrinking slightly at the exasperated expression on Red's face. She tried to explain, "What I said about the dark acts one must commit when working in the criminal underground...I did not in any way mean that as a slight or a judgement against you or Florian. What I meant was that it takes a certain kind of internal fortitude to do the job and not lost yourself. I don't think I have that fortitude. I don't think I would have a prayer of coming out whole on the other side."

Red's scowl deepened. "Nobody comes out whole on the other side, Rosalie. I told you back in New York, it robs me every day." A nasty, unpleasant though came over him, "Do you think your work isn't just as dirty as mine, just as amoral? Do you think you're somehow _less_ of a wanton criminal because you don't have to handle the dirtier aspects of our world?"

_She had said she didn't mean it as a judgement, sure, but was that really true?_

"On the contrary, I know it is." Rosalie turned to face him when she heard only a scathing tutting noise in response. "Raymond, my world is the same, yet very different. My network, it's nothing more than appearances. It is incredibly easy for me to completely dissociate from just how wretched my business truly is. The pieces which are robbed from me every day are much smaller than the ones taken from you and Florian. They're much harder to notice." She shook her head, biting back a well of emotion as the cold truth came to her, "My life's work is lipstick on a pig, allowing the world's most notorious felons safety and security, making them feel like they're not who they are; like they're not hunted, nationless, like their whole world isn't just a house of cards waiting for the perfect moment to crumble down around them. _That's what I do_."

His voice was deathly quiet when he responded, "Is that what you do with me?"

Rosalie's brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course it is. From the moment you and I began working together that has been my job in regards to you."

This, it seemed, was the wrong answer. "So all of this between us, what, is that just _part of your job_?"

The accusation stung. There wasn't an ounce of truth to it, and the very idea he would think such a thing hurt Rosalie to her very core.

"_Absolutely not_. Why on earth would you think-?"

"What the hell else am I supposed to think, Rosalie?" Raymond stormed out of the ensuite, his companion hot on his heels. "You just said it yourself, your job is to make your clients feel hidden and stable. You've certainly done that with me. Is that what this is? I've fallen for the ruse you offer everyone?"

Rosalie halted in her tracks, looking every bit as though he had just slapped her. "Raymond Reddington you're different and you damn well know it. You were different than the rest from the very start. Yes, I consider it my job to meet your basic needs of shelter and secrecy, that's what our agreement stipulates, but we both know there is so much more than all of that."

Tears fell in hot lines down her cheeks. "Raymond...You have all the pieces of me which no one else gets to have. You have the parts of me which wish to make your life happy, not just satisfactory, to make you feel _safe_, not just hidden. Yes, harboring you is part of my job, but...but _loving_ you? That's not something I could ever, ever fake."

She turned on her heel, placing her hand on the moulding beside the dressing room door. A panel in the wall opened to reveal another secret passage. Inside stood a green spiral staircase leading upward to a space as of yet unseen.

Red's tone turned to one of concern when she stepped into the passage. "We haven't cleared that room-"

"It's locked with a biometric scanner."

She disappeared behind the panel and up the stairs without another word, leaving Raymond standing in the bedroom, still in his tux and wondering what would be left of them come morning.

* * *

It was three a.m. and Red still hadn't slept.

The bed was cold without its other occupant, whom he assumed was sleeping in the hidden room upstairs. He grunted his discomfort, a hand stretching out to the mattress's left side once more only to come up empty.

Weary green eyes traveled surreptitiously to the hidden panel leading to the spiral staircase. Its opening was ajar, a soft yellow light outlining its edges.

He supposed he should be encouraged by the fact she hadn't outright locked him out.

_Did Rosalie perhaps want him to come up there?_

Raymond huffed and went back to scowling at the empty pillows beside him.

He would not beg for her company.

* * *

Three-thirty in the morning and Rosalie still sat curled up on the chaise in the upper room, wrapped in one of Raymond's shirts.

Odette had wound her way up the stairs, sensing her distress. She now lay with her fluffy white head in Rosalie's lap, soulful dark eyes watching her keenly.

Rosalie had so looked forward to showing him this place. Now, instead, she was using it to salve her wounds, tucked away from her companion. Hiding.

_Did he even care? Was it eating him alive to be down there while she was up here?_

It was killing her.

The woman drew the throw blanket more tightly around her, her eyes following the travel posters lining the walls and ceilings for the umpteenth time.

_Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut? Did she really have to fight him on this?_

Rosalie knew the answer.

She knew what was bothering her, but deep down she refused to press the issue. A disagreement about handling a threat was one thing, but knowing Raymond was lying about Von Hauser was another entirely.

Truthfully, Rosalie absolutely hated being in conflict with those closest to her. She would do just about anything to avoid it. For her subconscious, that desire seemed to take the form of instigating an argument over something inconsequential rather than voicing what was truly upsetting her.

The fire crackled and popped in the hearth, the singular light in an otherwise dark and lonely space.

* * *

Four a.m. saw Raymond throwing the covers off the bed and storming across the room.

He wrenched the panel open and climbed the stairs two at a time.

Upon reaching the top of the spiral, he walked a lengthy hall only to realize the hidden room was actually the house's central dome.

Rosalie stirred from her place on the chaise lounge beside the stone fireplace. She obviously hadn't slept any more than he had.

Raymond blurted his thoughts in a mad rush, causing Odette to scuttle from her owner's lap and out of the room.

"This isn't our fault. What happened tonight is not our fault. Not yours. Not mine. This has nothing to do with our relationship and everything to do with the German getting in the way."

Rosalie drew her knees up to her chest, "You're right, it is his fault."

Red nodded, at somewhat of a loss as to what he should say next. Her immediate agreement took the fury right out of him.

He eventually settled on the truth, "If we are in agreement, then _why_ are we fighting about it?"

Rosalie hesitated, wondering if she should be honest and risk another argument.

No.

"…I don't know, but I hate being up here while you're down there, and I don't like being at odds with you."

Raymond's expression softened and he took a few tentative steps forward, "Little dove, why didn't you come back to me?"

He closed the distance between them when Rosalie's bottom lip began to tremble in earnest. Gathering her into his lap, he wrapped her in a tight embrace which she readily reciprocated.

"I was upset and I thought we both needed a moment to cool down, but then I didn't know how to come back down without us getting into another fight."

Tears threatened to escape as Rosalie did what did not come naturally and bit back the truth about what was bothering her. She just wanted to stay there in his arms; she didn't want to fight anymore.

"Come to bed, Rosalie." Raymond whispered into the hollow of her neck, his hands rubbing her back soothingly. "Please. We botched the job this time, but that's normal, we aren't always going to agree. We didn't communicate as well as we usually do, it happens. Someone tried to take you and all I want is for you to come back to our bed, in my arms, where you belong."

Rosalie made no answer, merely nodding and allowing him to lead her back along the hallway, down the spiral staircase and back into the bedroom.

Pascal and Odette lay curled up at the foot of their bed, each lifting their heads when the two humans re-entered the room.

Red slipped back into bed, followed immediately by Rosalie, whom he tucked snugly against his chest.

"I'm sorry we fought." She sniffed, burrowing tightly into his hold.

"Me too."

A heavy sigh escaped them both as they settled in, both falling quickly into a restless sleep.

* * *

_The Armel Estate - Céret, France - December 24th, 1999_

Raymond awoke to an empty bed the following morning.

He didn't hear any sounds to indicate Rosalie was in the suite, either. Red had known there was something still bothering her last night. A part of him had wanted to hash it out, but getting into another fight had been the last thing he wanted. He couldn't help but wonder if today would bring about a resolution.

A glance around the room showed a small, folded slip of paper on his nightstand.

His hand reached out and lifted the note so he could read it.

_Gone to the kitchen, I promised Dembe kolaches._

_xo- Rosalie_

Red showered and shaved, donning a pair of dark jeans and a sage green cashmere sweater before leaving the room.

Pascal had waited for him, sitting patiently in the doorways to the bath and the dressing room until he was ready to leave.

He ruffled the fur on the dog's head and stepped out into the hall, making his way to Dembe's room. Dembe wasn't there, so Raymond continued his solitary walk down to the first floor with Pascal trotting at his side.

There was a fair bit of noise coming from the kitchen, where a number of the Armel's inner circle sat drinking coffee and waiting for breakfast to be served. Glinting copper pots hung from the ceiling's rack and open shelves on the walls held glass jars bearing all kinds of unique and exotic ingredients.

Raymond saw Rosalie and Dembe clad in matching white aprons, standing at the large flour-coated butcher block island in the kitchen's center. A baking tray lay on the countertop between them, along with a bowl of dough and two juice glasses.

Rosalie could be heard gently instructing on how to roll the dough.

"You just take a piece a bit bigger than a golf ball, and put it on the bench. You can put the glass over it and roll it into a ball that way, or, you can just make a claw like this." Her fingers made a kind of cage around the lump of dough and swirled it deftly along the counter, making a perfect sphere.

Dembe mirrored her actions perfectly, grabbing a bit of dough and swirling it twice across the bench before popping it on the tray next to hers.

"Perfect! Let's get these rolled so they can rest." She clapped her hands together, sending a little cloud of flour into the air.

"Raymond, my boy."

Florian's call disrupted the impromptu lesson.

Rosalie's eyes lifted from the task to settle on him.

Red gave a small wave, unsure where they stood as of yet.

He felt a wave of immense relief consume him when she gave him a small smile and waved back. She then lifted a large pastry bag holding a deep purple filling so he could see she was also making his favorite, giving him a playful wink before returning to her work.

Raymond smiled to himself as he turned away from the kitchen, heading to the entrance hall where Florian was waving him over.

The three men from the previous night, including the one whose arm was in a sling, all nodded and gestured in greeting before taking their leave and heading for the kitchen as well.

Florian inhaled deeply and turned on the ball of his foot, "Walk with me?"

Red knew better than to decline, and instead fell in step with him. They grabbed their coats and exited out into the château's sprawling courtyard.

Florian turned on a dime and headed for the rear of the home, where Raymond could see three enormous glass greenhouses glinting in the morning sun.

"Now," Florian began, "Unfortunately, there was nobody at the Port of Leucate when we got there. I have people looking through surveillance to see if anyone even showed up. Until then, I would very much like to hear about this German fellow and what he seems to want with the two of you."

* * *

By the time they reached the greenhouses, Raymond had divulged everything they knew about the German and his associate.

He couldn't deny it was a comfort to seek the other man's perspective on the matter, to know for certain whether they were missing something obvious.

"I see," Florian mused, leading the way into the sheltered warmth of the greenhouses. "You and Rosalie have discussed this at length, yes?"

"Of course." Raymond paused to take in the beauty contained with in the greenhouse's soaring ceilings. He could see Rosalie's hand in all of it, from the neatly planted rows of vegetables to the flowering

Florian seemed to understand, "She has a green thumb, my daughter. These greenhouses were designed by Gustave Eiffel, and sadly sat idle for many years. When Rosalie came to live with us, it was one of the first things she took over. Between her, the groundskeeper, and the house's chef, she filled these buildings with life. Flowers are cultivate year-round, native species nursed back to abundance, she brings bounty to everything she touches, not at all unlike my Marietta."

"I can see why you two were drawn to Rosalie from the start," Red mentioned, "The resemblance is striking. She could easily pass for your kin."

"She _is_," Florian agreed, "In all but blood, and if Marietta could give her that, she would."

"Yet you haven't named her as an Armel?" Raymond couldn't deny he was curious about their familial connection and how far it really extended.

The older man chuckled to himself, "If I had it to do over again, I would. Fearing a connection with us would close too many doors for her, I advised Rosalie to choose an alias of her own. That was the last decision I ever made without my wife's input. Marietta didn't speak to me for a month."

Both men sniggered at this, able to perfectly picture petite little Marietta blustering about the house in an unrivaled fury.

The topic of Madame Armel brought Raymond back to another curiosity which he had pondering. "If I may ask…Why did you bring your wife and daughter to witness such brutality last night? What was gained by having them be there to watch you deal with Victor?"

Florian's hands clapped together in delight as they stepped into the second greenhouse, which was nothing but rose and peony varieties. The blooms scattered the room in every size and color, some even climbing the building's back wall.

"There is a universal truth, one you must learn quickly, young man." Florian cupped the oxblood petals of a deep red rose, bringing it to his prominent nose and inhaling deeply.

Raymond turned to face him, a lone brow lifted in question. "What must I learn?"

"Armel women are not wallflowers." Florian's eyes lifted, glinting with an irreverent amusement gained only by decades of surmounting all manner of trials and tribulations.

"There are some men who wish to shelter their wives, to guard and keep them from the cold hard truth of our world. _Common_ criminals make this mistake. Men like you and I, we cannot entertain such fragile displays of male ego. Marietta and Rosalie are not the caliber of women one can cosset away, and you and I are not the type of men willing to endure such foolish endeavors."

They stepped into the last greenhouse, which was bursting at the seams with varying sizes and colors of poinsettias. As he admired the shelves upon shelves of potted blooms, Red wasn't certain he entirely agreed with such a sentiment. He relished the balance he and Rosalie had struck. She was not cosseted by any means, but she did not fight him when he sought to care for her, nor did he fight her when she wished to do the same.

Florian caught the furrow of his forehead when they exited the building and rounded the lane, coming upon a tranquil pond tucked amongst the trees. "Don't be mistaken, my dear boy. In times of peace and plenty, I take great enjoyment in coddling and doting upon my wife. However, in times of war and in times of want…Now _that _was where our union was forged. To this day, I never shelter her from it, but rather revel in her fortitude. I take comfort in the sanctuary that is our relationship. Because, when all is said and done, Marietta is the sentinel who guards the gates of my soul. Whatever must be done, whatever mistakes may be made along the way, I know I can trust that she will be there with me every step of the way. I included Marietta because her place is at my side, and I refuse to allow her or anyone else in my immediate circle to ever forget that."

Raymond was moved by the other man's passionate remarks, "And Rosalie? Why did you include her?"

"For the very same reasons. She is my own, I included her so that _she_ never forgets what a true partnership looks like; what it means to be a united front. If this threat seeks to come knocking on your door, the two of you must be unshakeable when it does. Regardless of what happens. You can't protect each other from every little thing, but you can ensure you don't make the same mistake twice. You can ensure that when all is lost, when everything crumbles at your feet, the two of you are what's left standing atop the rubble." Florian bent and lifted a smooth stone from the water's edge, skipping it with ease across the pond's nearly-frozen surface.

"The rest will fall into place."

* * *

"Hey."

Rosalie was sorting through items in the pantry when a familiar voice called to her. A head of black hair peeked around the doorframe, and the towering figure of Horace Asim Jabare came shuffling into the room. "Hey."

The silence was a tad awkward before Horace asked, "How are things? You and I never really had a chance to catch up."

"Things are good," came Rosalie's somewhat robotic answer, "Teddy has been a godsend, so, thank you for picking at least one good guard in our time together."

Horace winced, "Yeah…I'm really sorry for bailing on you."

Rosalie waved him off, "It wasn't what you were expecting, I get it."

Dembe appeared from around the corner, "Rosalie, I think they are ready-" He halted upon catching sight of Horace, then immediately held out his hand. "It is good to see you again."

"Same," he agreed, shaking Dembe's hand with a small half-smile.

"I'll be out in a moment with the icing, sweetheart. Would you mind taking them out for me?"

Dembe grinned and gave a cheery wave before returning to the kitchen.

"I should let you go." Horace turned to leave, but Rosalie caught his arm.

"Hey, I'm not trying to lure you back or anything, but if you get tired of being night security for the château…Let me know, maybe Raymond and I could work something out which doesn't involve the nastier aspects of our life on the run. Besides, I kind of miss you."

"_Kind of_?" He teased with a grin, "Kind of miss me. _Ouch_."

Rosalie laughed with a shrug, "Just a bit...Give it some thought, will you?"

Horace scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Going anywhere warm?"

Her nose wrinkled as she considered their upcoming travels. "Not until the second week of February. We'll be in Palmira, Colombia then, that might be warm. Teddy will know how to get in touch should you change your mind."

She held her arms out, offering a hug, which Horace took before saying his goodbyes once more, leaving his former colleagues to their baking.

* * *

Raymond and Florian returned to the warmth of the château a few minutes later, just as the night guards were disembarking. The former gestured that his companion should continue on while he prodded the shoulder of a passing guard, asking for a word.

Horace followed him into a nearby alcove, his expression one of polite suspicion.

"Reddington."

Red's tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he considered what he wished to say to Horace. "I wanted to thank you for last night, for your hand in keeping Rosalie safe, it's much appreciated."

"It's my job," Horace shrugged, still as bristly as ever.

Raymond nodded, "Well, listen, I know you and I have butted heads from time to time, but good security is difficult to find these days. I don't know if it was your dream to run night crew for a castle owned by a disgruntled crime boss, but if you're ever looking for a change of pace, let us know."

"Sorry?" The man's countenance was thoroughly confused, "You do know I left because of the way things were heading, right?"

"I do," Red assured, "I'm just saying I know Florian hasn't exactly been easy on you since your return, and although I actually kind of loathe you for leaving Rosalie in the lurch, the fact of the matter is she misses you."

Horace pursed his lips, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I've told you before, Reddington, I don't like the way you do business. She's going to get hurt one of these days, we all know it."

Raymond was undeterred, though his back teeth were making an ominous cracking noise from all the pressure he was putting on them.

"I can't predict the future, Horace. I can't tell you what's going to happen. I can tell you that I'm not operating without a healthy dose of fear. I readily admit I'm terrified that beautiful woman might one day be hurt or captured or persecuted for her connection to me. I'd be a fool if I wasn't afraid. I'm doing everything in my power to keep that from happening. I'm not going to beg you to come back, even for her sake. Just think it over. I know she would be happy to have you around again."

With that, Red turned on his heel and headed back to the kitchen.

* * *

When Raymond reached the opening to the spacious room, he found Florian blocking half of the doorway, watching intently.

Rosalie was dutifully holding court; however, it was not a gaggle of young women with whom she associated, but a trio of some of France's most illustrious gangsters, the very men who had come to their aid the night before.

Florian watched the proceedings with unguarded pride and reluctant amusement. The little blonde was perched in the center of the lion's den, sipping her tea and poking fun at one of Corsica's most notorious sons, Jackie le Mat, whom she affectionately referred to as 'Tomcat'. Francis 'The Belgian' Vanverberghe and Christian 'The Big Blond' Oraison sat on her opposite side, eagerly goading her into spats of bickering in fervid French.

"Come now, Tomcat, what is this, _third_ wife's the charm?" The smile she bestowed from her teacup was a very impish one.

No one could get away with such latitude with Jackie le Mat. The man had been shot 22 times in 1977 and was somehow still kicking, though his right arm was paralyzed and rested in a sling the majority of the time. Despite her cheek, Jackie roared with laughter, eagerly teasing the young fugitive. "Well, you keep turning down my marriage proposals, what else is a dapper fellow like myself supposed to do?"

Rosalie lifted her chin in a playful fashion. "Now Jacques, you know full well I'm far too preoccupied for such frivolity. If _Francis_ asked me, on the other hand..."

A low roar of laughter met this quip, in the midst of which Red heard a small _psst_.

Marietta waved him over to a smaller table, where she sat quietly observing the proceedings. "The view is much better from here." She winked and poured him a cup of tea, watching intently as he watched Rosalie.

Raymond took the seat and the offered cup, enjoying a long sip before leaning conspiratorially toward her. "Did I ever tell you the story of how Rosalie and I first met?"

Marietta beamed excitedly, shaking her head and resting her chin in her palm, eager to hear the tale.

* * *

Rosalie watched her companion from across the room as he spoke to Marietta.

She had never truly stopped to admire how the man told a story. He gesticulated and roared, he rumbled and purred, his eyes crinkled in sly amusement at the recollection of a particularly clever heist just as they rolled expressively when deploring the useless tactics of law enforcement. The man could weave a tale like a fine oriental carpet, each and every strand bearing its own unique texture and mixture of hues.

Rosalie tilted her head to the side, smiling adoringly at him as she watched him

The gesture actually made Raymond falter, the warmth and affection in her gaze permeating his thoughts.

Marietta looked between the two with a sly, knowing grin. Her clever eyes turned to her husband, slender brows waggling significantly at him.

Florian caught what she was referring to, the sight causing him to laugh and shake his head.

* * *

Raymond waited until Rosalie stood once more, heading to the pantry to check on the cooling of her baked goods.

He quickly took his leave from the Armels and followed her, stepping into the pantry and closing the door behind him.

Rosalie jumped in surprise, turning in shock only to be pulled into Red's arms.

His mouth brushed against hers, seeking her reaction to his advances.

She allowed it, leaning into him without hesitation.

When he gently sucked her bottom lip, it eased a moan from her throat, her hands moving to thread themselves through his hair, her nails scraping his scalp teasingly.

Raymond cupped her cheek, holding Rosalie to his pleasure while he coaxed some of his favorite sounds from her.

Her pulse was pounding and her breath came in sharp bursts when he finally released her.

"I know you're still upset. Can we talk about it?" Red's walk with Florian had shown him the real issue in his and Rosalie's argument, and he wanted dearly to mend the rift between them.

At his request, Rosalie couldn't hold back the words if she tried, unleashing everything which had crossed her mind between last night and that morning. "I'm upset because someone in this world seems intent on ripping me from your arms and for the first time, you and I don't seem to be standing as one. Instead of facing this together and handling it our way, we crumbled in on ourselves and blamed each other. We fought over something that shouldn't matter, and not to stick my thumb back in it, but I'm sure you were lying to me about Von Hauser."

She buried her face in her hands, resting her back against the pantry counter and taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Us arguing because we're both afraid and unsure of what we should do? That, I can understand. We can handle fear; we can handle uncertainty...What really worries me, Raymond, what kept me up last night, was the knowledge you're actively withholding part of yourself from me which I'm almost certain has nothing to do with your name."

Red's eyes were wide with surprise. He had been completely unaware of how badly this had been bothering her.

Rosalie brushed the corners of her eyes with a finger, a small sniff escaping her lips.

"You promised you wouldn't withhold any part of yourself from me and yet here you are. Which, for me, begs the question: What other promises will you break? What other lies will you tell while assuring me you're speaking the truth?"

That statement alone was enough to convince Raymond they could not wait one minute more to resolve the issue.

"Is there somewhere we can go that's absolutely private?"

Rosalie tilted her head, "Um, the dome. Nobody knows that room is there except for myself and the Armels."

Red took a deep breath and grabbed her by the hand, leading them from the pantry and back through the kitchen, carefully avoiding any of the house's other guests.

They ascended the stairs, bumping into Dembe on his way to the library.

He merely waved and carried on his merry way, understanding there was something personal afoot.

The two made quick time across the third floor, into Rosalie's room and up the spiral staircase, closing and locking each door behind them.

Raymond took a long look around the open room, admiring all he hadn't seen the night before. "I didn't manage to truly see this space last night, it was too dark."

His eyes scanned the room, admiring its shelves upon shelves of books and records, the polished baby grand piano in the room's corner catching his curiosity. "You play?"

Rosalie looked to where he was pointing and nodded, "I learned when I was very young, I still enjoy tickling the ivories now and again."

A somewhat uncomfortable quiet blanketed the room, both occupants fretting over an argument which had yet to come.

"In the pantry, I wanted to tell you," Raymond faltered, trying to find the exact words he needed, "I wanted to tell you, because I desperately need you to know...I love the way you look at me."

A small smile tugged at Rosalie's lips, falling when she saw how tense Red was.

"I don't want to do or say anything that will ever change the way you look at me."

The statement was whispered with a kind of desperation which worried her. Her stomach plummeted, "You aren't going to tell me what's going on because you think it will change the way I look at you?"

A lone finger chucked her chin, "I want to tell you."

Rosalie groaned and shook her head.

_How could she have been so stupid?_ _Of course he wasn't about to tell her the truth._

"I _do_ want to tell you." Red insisted, "It would be such a relief to tell you everything, I know it would. Part of me thinks I don't deserve to be even partially relieved of that burden, but if keeping this secret means creating a divide between us, then I don't want to keep it."

This caught Rosalie's attention, so he surged onward, "Part of me is deeply afraid, Rosalie. To tell you this is to place in your confidence something that would absolutely and without question be my death sentence were it to leave this room."

Her lips parted in shock, "Raymond, you're scaring me."

"This _should_ scare you, Rosalie. I don't want to keep things from you, but I need you to understand the significance of what you're asking of me. Can I trust you with this? Can you promise me you will hold that confidence regardless of what it might reveal? Even _I_ don't know. You're the only one who can know if your conscience will allow it."

Rosalie was pointedly silent, genuinely considering what he was saying. "Raymond, what did you do?"

"Promise me, if I lay my life in your hands, you'll protect it. Promise me you'll keep it to yourself."

The Limoges clock on the mantle chimed audibly, making them both jump. The tension had been all-consuming up until that moment.

Red's powerful frame stood taut before Rosalie, who was still quite appalled he didn't know without question she could be trusted with something so precious.

"You really think I would do such a thing? That I would betray your confidence in any way?"

His eyes were beseeching, "This is my _life_, little dove. We're criminals. You know as well as I, I can't just take this for granted."

It took a moment for her to respond, but Rosalie finally sat on one end of the chaise lounge and patted the space beside her, perfectly sincere.

"I promise."

She understood Raymond was laying bare a piece of his humanity. He was offering a corner of himself which held deep, abiding wounds, filled with shame and regret at whatever had happened.

And so, she listened.

She listened as Raymond Reddington unburdened his soul, unveiling the truth about Hans Von Hauser to the only person whom he felt he could trust.


	29. Joyeaux Noël

_Two months later... Palmira, Colombia - February 13th, 2000_

The restaurant was incredibly noisy. Raymond could hardly hear himself think, let alone keep up with the conversations occurring at their table.

Kate and Rosalie were in the midst of a deep discussion regarding the growing unrest in the UK over petrol prices. Both women were of the mind Raymond could capitalize on such discord whilst providing cost-effective fuel for the country's citizens, and were actively plotting a course of actions from which they could move forward.

Ted was chatting up a pretty local girl at the bar, keeping his charge within his line of sight at all times.

Dembe was smiling serenely to himself, a worn photograph in his cupped hands beneath the table. The picture showed the new orphanage and school Raymond had erected on Rosalie's newest location in Kenya, built for the sole purpose of housing and educating the young boys who had once been in Fisi's gang.

It had taken until the end of the year to completely disband the rebels, and another two months to successfully relocate all of them. In that time, Rosalie purchased another sanctuary near Mombasa, Kenya. Raymond's associates worked alongside her own to return as many children to their families as possible, then built out a safe haven at the new site, which she dubbed _Bandari. _The older members were offered safe, stable jobs in either syndicate and the children who did not have families to return to were being cared for at Bandari in perpetuity.

The boys had gotten together for a group photo at their new home, which Ndwiga had ensured was sent to Dembe specifically.

He had grinned from ear to ear upon receiving the photograph, knowing those boys, at least, were safe from the fate which had claimed his own childhood.

Rosalie cast a surreptitious glance Raymond's way, beaming a bright smile and inclining her head towards Dembe's bowed one.

Red nodded, his smile just as bright for the people he cherished most.

The proximity between himself and Rosalie stirred his psyche into varying flights of fantasy, the foremost being a recollection of their time together at the Armel's château. For the umpteenth time that week, Raymond's mind wandered back to that fateful day in the dome when he confessed to Rosalie the truth about Hans Von Hauser...

* * *

_The Dome Room- Armel's Château - December 24th, 1999_

_"I never meant for Hans to be harmed in any way."_

_Raymond had spent the better part of an hour reliving the tale, his eyes fixated on his palms._

_He was convinced nothing would rid himself of the blood on his hands. He could all but feel it, sticky, warm and nauseating, how it caked the cracks and crevices of his skin._

_Rosalie sat unmoving beside him, likely horrorstruck at hearing the fate of Hans Von Hauser._

_Red couldn't bring himself to look at her. The further the uncharacteristic silence stretched, the more unsettled he felt._

_"...the Taddiken Brothers?"_

_Her voice was barely audible._

_"They fled," he explained, "I went on a transcontinental rampage following their trail. I caught up with Karl in Mogadishu, and tracked Jünger to a brothel in Nairobi. There was nothing left of them by the time I was done."_

_Rosalie still hadn't looked at him._

_"Jünger Taddiken was the man you beat to a pulp in the basement of the brothel where you found Dembe."_

_"Yes."_

_He hazarded a glance to his left. Rosalie's chin rested in a cupped palm, her nails tapping rhythmically against her cheek while she sifted through all he had divulged._

_"What happened to Hans's body, Raymond?"_

_Raymond hung his head once more, answering with one word._

_"Kate."_

_He heard a weary sigh issue from Rosalie's lips._

_"Who else knows?"_

_"You." Red whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose as a wealth of colorful language circled inside his skull, cursing his past self once more for his foolishness. "Only you."_

_The echoing silence engulfed them once more, sitting heavily on Raymond's chest._

_"I wasn't prepared to see Werner last night, which was why I was so obviously discomforted. I can't look at the man without remembering what I did-" the lump in his throat seized painfully, "I see the face of his dead son staring blankly up at me from a battered shipping crate every single time."_

_Rosalie's voice was eerily calm when she spoke again, as though she were merely unraveling the logic behind a complex argument. "So you made amends in the best way you knew how. You commanded reciprocity for Hans's demise, then leveraged the act to foster a lasting partnership with Werner."_

_When she said it like that, it made his actions sound cavalier. Raymond tried to explain, "I can't tell him the truth, Rosalie. Everything hinges on my empire becoming as wealthy and powerful as possible. That can't happen without Werner, and it certainly can't happen if I'm dead."_

_There was no response to this._

_The weight of Rosalie's disapproval hung like a stifling haze in the room, pressing Red to continue explaining himself._

_He hadn't cared before, he still didn't care what anyone else thought of him, but Rosalie...He couldn't stand for her to think of him as some heartless thug._

_"I'm so, so very ashamed of what happened to Hans, Rosalie. Nothing will ever make it right, I know that, but I can't allow what I've built to be demolished due to a foolish decision I made seven years ago."_

_He needed her to understand, to realize that despite this awful mistake, Raymond was not that man anymore. He had learned so many hard lessons between then and now. Red liked to think he had gained a greater sense of humility following Hans's death._

_Rosalie took a deep breath and finally spoke in earnest._

_"Raymond, I don't think I have to tell you how horrendous a crime this is. You didn't do the deed but you do realize you created the circumstances which robbed a man of his only child. Werner's entire legacy was snuffed out for the sake of building your empire."_

_Red's face fell into his upturned palms, feeling a wave of burning, nauseating shame wash over him once more. "It wasn't for the sake of building my empire. Not really. You know none of this has been for the sake of personal gain."_

_"This was all for Elizabeth?"_

_He felt Rosalie shift beside him, seeing her hands folding themselves delicately in her lap, her eyes boring into the side of his head._

_He nodded solemnly, unsure whether she believed him. "All the wealth I've accumulated, all the influence and leverage I've amassed...It's there for her. My empire exists for the sole purpose of keeping her alive, and keeping me out of jail. In the end, that's all that matters. The suits, the plane, all the accoutrements of a luxurious lifestyle, they mean nothing without purpose. Elizabeth is that purpose."_

_Rosalie stood and paced the room, stopping to stand in front of the high arched window overlooking the château's courtyard. When she spoke, her words came as calm as a placid lake._

_"Raymond, my world is predicated on my ability to read people, to see who they truly are. It is paramount to my survival and my success to pry back the veneers and assess what they want, what they need, their motives...I've grown quite adept at it over the years. In the past year and a half, I've learned to read you better than anyone in my acquaintance."_

_Raymond's head bowed impossibly lower._

_Part of him hated that Rosalie wasn't even being conceited. She was right, she would see through any facade he tried to erect. He loathed feeling so naked, unable to hide the dark and tattered pieces of himself from her knowing eyes._

_Red knew those pieces were hideous, ugly, the aspects of himself he was sure were irredeemable._

_Rosalie would find them and know he was a selfish, violent man who would all too easily explain away any despicable act as being for the greater good of a young girl with whom he shared some secret connection which he had yet to explain._

_Raymond couldn't see how she could possibly look past it all._

_When he did not answer her, Rosalie turned and trod slowly back toward him._

_He saw her sock-clad feet appear toe-to-toe with his own. The little red and green stripes crisscrossing the small appendages almost made him smile._

_She lifted a hand to his chin, attempting to coax his gaze to her own._

_"Don't." Red flinched away, his body tensing for the judgement he knew must come._

_"Why?"_

_He shook his head vigorously, "I can't bear to see you look at me the way the rest of the world does; like I'm some kind of monster. I did what I thought I had to do to keep her safe."_

_If Raymond had looked up, he would have seen how those words tore Rosalie apart inside._

_She had come to the criminal game well after Hans's death, but she knew how acutely Werner still felt his son's loss. Florian swore the man had never been the same._

_In fact, the only other person she knew to be deeply affected by that loss, was Raymond._

_Rosalie tilted her head and took a good long look at her companion, seeing the immense remorse written clearly on the handsome features she knew so well._

_The Raymond Reddington responsible for Hans Von Hauser's death was a younger man, one who made a terrible mistake which obviously haunted him still._

_This man, the one with whom Rosalie was building her life, he was good._

_Red could be violent; he could be viciously lethal when he needed to be, but _**_only_ **_when he needed to be. There was a strict code of ethics from which he never wavered, and it set the man leaps and bounds above the typical scourge found in the criminal underground. Rosalie couldn't be certain, but she believed the incident with Hans may very well have triggered the code he lived by._

_In her eyes, there was a great deal to be said for the character of a man who could learn from his greatest mistakes._

_Yet he feared she would look at him and see some kind of horrendous monster._

_...How could she see him as a monster when she was one of precious few who truly knew him?_

* * *

A tinkling laugh pulled Red from his reverie.

Kate was regaling a particularly funny story from their early days, much to everyone else's enjoyment.

Rosalie turned to gauge his reaction, her nose crinkled in a delighted smile at his expense.

The gesture made him grin as well. Truthfully, he had no clue which story Kate was divulging, but he considered it a fair trade to hear the sound of his companion's laugh.

He was convinced his cleaner could reveal every last one of his dirty secrets and Rosalie would still smile at him the way she was right then and there.

Her hand slipped into his lap, slender fingers threading through his to give his hand a squeeze before her attention returned to the group at large, Dembe having joined in the story telling as well.

Raymond happily brushed his thumb back and forth over her fingers, his mind already wandering back to that day in the dome.

* * *

_His eyes were still staunchly on the floor, so Rosalie resolutely climbed into his lap, cradling his face in her hands. "Look up, my love."_

_The dark jades swam in a sea of misery when they finally lifted at her behest._

_"The world will always see what it wants to see, I can't change that. They may see a monster. They may very well believe with every ounce of their being that you are the devil himself. But they don't know you, and I do."_

_The implication of those words brought every fiber of him to attention. "You do," he agreed, hoping against hope this meant she understood, that her feelings for him hadn't changed._

_"I've seen the lengths you're willing to go to protect those you love, Raymond, having trod my fair share of those paths as well. I'm not about to judge you too harshly for what happened." Rosalie carded her fingertips through his hair and kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his temples, showering him with reassuring affection. "I told you I can read you better than anyone, and the man I know is no monster." She brushed a droplet of moisture from the corner of his eyes with her thumb, "The man I know is warm and calm, formidable but affectionate, unshakeably confident yet genuinely humble. He makes mistakes, sometimes big ones, but he never makes the same mistake twice. Despite what the law says, he always strives to do the right thing." She cupped his chin with gentle fingers, keeping his eyes on hers, "You're hard and soft in all the best ways. You're kind, thoughtful...you're so wonderfully human, Raymond. I hope you can take solace in the fact that, when _**_I_**_look at you...I always see a good man."_

_Her voice was so sincere, it shattered what was left of Red's resolve. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight to him, taking comfort in the sanctuary of her embrace._

_There were no words to express the gratitude he felt for her acceptance, her understanding. Raymond buried his face in the hollow of her neck, clutching the soft, feminine frame, feeling a lightening in his soul at having one less obstacle between them, confessing just one of his many sins._

* * *

Rosalie was only halfway listening to the conversation at hand.

She sensed Raymond's mind had wandered elsewhere, and she couldn't help but wonder what had so avidly captured his attention.

He still held her hand tightly in his own, his thumb circling endlessly along her knuckles.

Lifting the appendage, Rosalie placed a loving kiss to its surface.

This garnered Red's attention well enough. He watched intently as she pressed her lips along the back of his hand. The gesture was both sweet and sensual, relaxing his tense posture.

Rosalie kissed his palm once more, then placed his fist in her lap, cradling it tenderly in both her hands.

Raymond bent and quietly kissed her cheek in thanks before settling once more into his pleasant daydream.

* * *

_They sat there for several long minutes, silently assuring themselves all was right in their world._

_As the afternoon sun filtering through the dome's windows began to darken, Rosalie guided Red's face upward once more. She seemed to read his mind, kissing him soundly before declaring, "I don't know about you, but I'm beat."_

_Red took the opportunity offered and readily steered them toward what he desperately needed._

_"I don't think either of us slept well last night," he reasoned, "Do you think we would be missed if we went to bed for a bit?"_

_Rosalie smiled warmly, "I don't think so. Dinner will be much, much later tonight; it's likely the rest of the house will retire for a spell as well. Even Dembe's far too enamored with the library to give a hoot for the likes of us. We should be uninterrupted for a spell."_

_"Good," Raymond immediately guided Rosalie from his lap, his hand never releasing hers, and guided them both back toward the spiral staircase leading to their suite._

_He toed off his shoes upon reaching the bottom of the staircase, then made for the bed, wearily stripping down to his boxers while Rosalie drew the curtains._

_To his immense enjoyment, she divested all but her panties then leisurely donned the white cotton undershirt he had just vacated._

_She_ _ climbed into bed, pulled back the blankets and patted his side, beckoning for him to join her._

_Red slipped beneath the sheets without question, turning to his side and gathering Rosalie into his arms._

_Her arms wound around his middle, cuddling him nice and close. Rosalie hummed softly in her throat, brushing the tip of her nose back and forth along his pectorals which lifted with each deep breath he took, the scent of him warming her from the inside out._

_"Thank you for telling me the truth about Hans."_

_The words whispered warm and breathy against his sternum, tickling the soft curliques there._

_"It means everything to me for you to trust me with something so important."_

_A heavy silence blanketed the room, broken only by the sound of steady breathing. Delicate fingertips drew lazy patterns along Red's back, leaving pleasant goosebumps in their wake._

_Raymond smoothed a hand through Rosalie's hair, removed the clip which held her locks pinned in place and tossed it onto her nightstand so he could bury his hands in the wealth of silky curls. "It's a relief to have you know the truth. To find, even knowing one of my most shameful mistakes, you're still here. To feel like you still even want-"_

_Rosalie threaded her fingers through his closely cropped hair, using the leverage to bring him nose to nose with her._

_"I still want you, Raymond Reddington. Don't ever doubt that."_

_Red captured her lips with a deep sigh of contentment, feeling the same lightening sensation in his soul, basking in the soothing comfort only she could bring._

_Rosalie pursued him with a passion, her tongue tracing the curvature of his lower lip when she kissed him back._

_The two hadn't engaged in the simple pleasure of a make-out session in a while, and they took to the pastime with immense pleasure._

_Rosalie's hands roamed the breadth of Raymond's back and shoulders, skirting up the nape of his neck to the base of his scalp and tugging sensually at the short hairs there._

_His skin prickled beneath her touch, the tingling pleasure sending his own hands to grip at her curves, pulling her feminine figure flush with his masculine one._

_A slender leg hitched itself over Raymond's hip, encouraging such contact._

_Cupping the back of her thigh, he pulled Rosalie closer, arcing her body into his. Ensuring she was wrapped snugly around him, Red lost himself to the sensual comfort of a woman's touch._

* * *

A small, warm hand gave Raymond's knee a squeeze, pulling him from the memory.

Dembe was telling a joke, but it seemed Rosalie's attention was elsewhere.

Volatile gray eyes turned ever so nonchalantly to look him up and down, lingering in a few of her favorite places.

Red watched with heated intrigue, an infinitely more exciting memory forcing its way into his thoughts.

* * *

_Raymond woke hours later to a warm bundle curled against his side, trailing teasing fingertips up and down his torso. A pair of soft warm lips followed, placing tender kisses to the places where her fingers trekked. A hot, wet little tongue flicked daintily here and there, a sharp set of teeth nibbling his flesh tauntingly._

_He turned to see a head of honeyed locks resting serenely on his shoulder. The undershirt his companion had been wearing lay discarded on her pillow, alerting Red to the fact she was blissfully nude._

_Rosalie remained cuddled against him, moaning softly when_ _his hand caressed the expanse of skin stretching from her nape to the small of her back._

_Raymond relaxed into the plush mattress, enjoying the feel of gentle hands roaming his body._

_She leisurely hugged him, smoothing her palm over his chest, along his stomach and down his sides, a small giggle escaping her lips when she passed over a ticklish spot where the muscles in his abdomen tensed spasmodically._

_He smiled for her amusement, placing an affectionate kiss to the crown of her head._

_They were both barely awake, drowsy lips wandering every which way, kissing open bleary eyes and waking sleeping limbs._

_Rosalie's hand trickled down Red's legs, kneading the tightness from the stocky limbs before winding up his inner thighs and through the dark blond curls at their apex._

_The light digits continued their migration, frolicking every which way but where Red wanted them most._

_"You're being a right tease."  
_

_The half-hearted complaint was grumbled into her hairline, making Rosalie smile while she stoutly ignored the critique to her technique._

_"I'd be inclined to relent, if I didn't know for a fact how much you enjoy being teased."_

_Raymond hissed when a single digit finally traced the length of his cock, garnering a visible response from the rapidly hardening appendage._

_His body strained toward the tormenting sensation, bidding her to touch him further._

_"I like doing the teasing," he corrected through his teeth, "There's a big difference, little dove."_

_"There certainly is." Rosalie ghosted her fingertips along his thick head, garnering a heartfelt throb of appreciation from the sensitive crown. _

_"I love making love to you," she murmured in a fervent whisper, perfectly riveted by the task at hand. The heavy weight filled her hand to capacity and grew with each second spent under her tutelage._

_"So you're going to lay back and enjoy yourself while I take my sweet, sweet time driving you up the walls."_

_Raymond couldn't lie, he would never tire of hearing and feeling how much his lover enjoyed these sensual pursuits. He was a mere mortal man after all, and the way she worshiped him in these quiet moments together made every corner of him ache._

_She was right. This is what he wanted with her, always. To be made love to, to experience all she could give._

_Tender lips pressed themselves to Red's pulse point, setting the very blood in his veins to boiling and wiping any further coherent thought from his mind._

_Rosalie had managed to procure a bit of lubricant and was smoothing the slick product over him with gentle passes. The bulging rod listed to the side, already heavy and aching from her ministrations._

_Both individuals moaned at the action, lost to the heat kindling between them._

_A masculine hand lingered idly at the dip of Rosalie's waist, drawing aimless circles with a roughened fingertip. Red's entire being was occupied with watching the small hands beginning to work his shaft._

_Rosalie sighed happily, allowing just her middle and index fingers to slide up his length on either side. "You're so hard for me."_

_The teasing touch had Raymond moaning plaintively, desperate_ _for more._

_Rosalie was content to give in to his every desire, diligently building the ecstasy in his bones to a wondrous crescendo._

_She took him in hand once more, coaxing him easily into the wilds of passion she was creating._

_Raymond buried his nose in her fragrant hair, breathing deeply the subtle floral scent as euphoria coursed like lava through his system._

_One small hand dropped to knead his testicles, the other steadily stroked the fullness of his aching length, alternating smoothly between the two. Rosalie had long since discovered what made her lover tick, and eagerly used her knowledge to make him buckle in agonized pleasure._

_Red could feel the tight, slick grip spread with each thrust. He widened his legs a little further in supplication, his mouth agape, sharp bursts of air rushing from his lips with every movement of Rosalie's hand._

_A slender leg straddled his own, keeping him spread for her perusal but also bringing the warm, wet valley of Rosalie's thighs flush with his leg. The delicate silk covering her sex was soaked with arousal, the knowledge making Red's cock harden even further._

_"You know what to do." He purred, nudging his thigh against his favored playmate._

_The little hips rolled forward obediently, forcing a shaky gasp from Rosalie's lips as she eased the delicious ache which was thrumming inside her. She continued to rake her sex against his thigh, her grip on his shaft tightening with each upward movement._

_"Yes, little dove...just like that."_

_She grinned in response and nuzzled her nose with Red's while her hand began pumping his length in earnest._

_"I want you," he pleaded, feeling as though his body was on fire from her teasing._

_"You'll have me tonight, all night," she promised, gingerly brushing her lips against his, "Right now, I just want to please you."_

_Raymond's entire frame gave a delighted shudder of arousal. He grunted against Rosalie's mouth, pulling her tight so he could kiss her once more. His hand cupped her cheek, holding her captive to his affection, deepening the contact until it was she who was whimpering for want of more._

_They broke and Red hissed when her tight grip moved in a circular motion, rotating about his head with precision._

_"Mother of God..."_

_The slick hold steadily squeezed up and down, from base to tip, inching him toward completion._

_Raymond's legs quaked when Rosalie found a particularly sensitive spot, directing all of her attention toward it until his hips bucked into her touch and a string of feverish curses poured from his mouth._

_He turned to kiss her forehead and rubbed his hands along her neck, her clavicle, dipping to knead the plump breast resting against his side. A feminine moan of approval added to the wealth of wonderful sensations he was experiencing, bringing him closer to the release he craved._

_Rosalie kept tempo, building and building until Red swore he was on fire from the soles of his feet to the top of his head._

_He nearly lost himself when her thumb circled his frenulum, the hardened crown of his cock slowly darkening from the undivided attention being paid to it._

_Red's toes curled and his spine bowed as she dragged him toward an agonizing precipice. His orgasm was a mere handful of strokes away, and Rosalie slowed her pace just enough to hold him to that edge._

_"Don't stop..." he growled, reaching to wrap his fingers around hers, keeping her tiny hand grasped about his throbbing member, "I'm right there."_

_A gentle swat batted his hand away before returning to fondle the heavy bundle between his legs. A throaty grunt praised her renewed efforts, the sound bringing a playful smile to Rosalie's lips._

_His hands grasped at the cool cotton sheets when his companion moved to straddle him, focusing entirely on the task of driving him out of his damn mind._

_"I'm not stopping love," she promised with a heated whisper, each pass of her tightened fist pulling a husky moan from deep within his chest, "Not until I've left you thoroughly spent."_

_Raymond's lips lifted in a lazy grin, his body relaxing once more into her ministrations.  
_

_There were few things as thrilling as a thorough lover._ _As it stood, Red's companion wasn't leaving a single inch of him unappreciated._

_He loved that. _

_Raymond loved when_ _Rosalie touched him. She never rushed his pleasure, but rather worshiped his body as though there were nothing she enjoyed more than making love together._

_Truthfully, there was nothing he enjoyed more than making love with her. The lovely figure currently pressed against him was only the tip of the iceberg. The sounds which poured from her lips, her body's movements in tandem with his own, nothing made a man feel more virile, more alive than a warm, loving woman._

_Red felt his orgasm beginning in the base of his spine, his grip on reality slipping several notches._

_Rosalie's lips beamed a lust laden smile, the bottom one caught coquettishly between her teeth._

_The expression was so damn endearing, it made Raymond chuckle in the midst of a rumbling moan._

_"Do you have any idea how thrilling you are, little dove?" He reached to cup her cheek, pulling Rosalie in for a kiss._

_She leaned forward to oblige, dragging out each and every one of those sensual caresses to his aching length and whispering huskily, "I'd love to hear more about that, love, as soon as you give me what I want."_

_"God, yes..."_

_It was becoming impossible to hold back. Rosalie's touch was steady and insistent, stroking over and over along his cock, creating the most delicious pulses of pleasure within._

_Red turned and took her earlobe between his teeth, sucking teasingly before a guttural sound of completion tore through his chest and the first climactic wave crashed over him. Basking in the sheer euphoria coursing through him with each touch, he gave himself over to the powerful sensations as his cock throbbed its relief into the tight grip surrounding it._

* * *

"If you keep looking at me like that," Rosalie's voice purred silkily against his neck, "I'm going to insist we reschedule this meeting for tomorrow so I can take you home and do the kinds of things which are illegal in most states."

Raymond came hurtling out of the memory with a delightful jolt.

His companion was standing beside him, one hand surreptitiously tracing the edge of his belt.

He buried a devilish grin in the crook of her neck, an arm winding its way around her waist so he could pull her close. "Mmm...keep that lovely notion foremost in your mind, little dove. This won't take long, I'll make sure of it. Then you and I can explore every nook and cranny of that notion."

He kissed the soft expanse of shoulder afforded by her button down, green eyes lifting lazily to the bar's newcomer.

Gavin Pruitt had just shuffled nervously into the building.

Gavin was an accountant Red scalped from a big five firm in Philly a few years earlier for the sake of structuring a series of tax havens in Mauritius.

Their working relationship had been highly successful and completely secret up until Christmas Eve, when a battalion of the FBI's finest kicked in the door to the Pruitt household, tearing Gavin from his bed and separating him from his family.

The Feds interrogated him for hours to no avail, terrorized Judith and the kids with similar questions, and completely upended the family's home in search of any information about Raymond Reddington's syndicate.

Red was not the least bit concerned about the search. If the FBI had a nickel's worth of sense, they'd know Gavin was so painstakingly meticulous with his work, he bordered on obsessive compulsive. The man's unrelenting dedication to flying below the radar would never allow for the storage of incriminating information anywhere even remotely associated with Gavin himself.

As predicted, the authorities were forced to release the Pruitts once they recognized they had nothing with which to hold any of them.

In all of this, Gavin's only concern had been for the safety and well-being of his wife and children. Knowing Raymond would care for them better than the U.S. Government never would, he covertly contacted his employer the moment he got away from the Feds.

Raymond could still hear the phone call clear as day. He, Rosalie, and Dembe were in the midst of celebrating Christmas Eve's_ le réveillon _with the Armels when Gavin called in an abject panic...

* * *

_Armel Château - Late Evening - December 24th, 1999_

_Le Réveillon was a French tradition centered around a long, lavish meal shared with loved ones on Christmas Eve. The Armels partook in the celebration every year with those closest to them, which now included Raymond and Dembe. Apèrtif began sometime around nine,_

_The two men sat on either side of Rosalie at the large round table. Horace, Otto, Cedric and Achille were also in the group, with Florian and Marietta occupying the central._

_The clock chimed 11:30 pm, and their group was finally circling around to desserts and gifts._

_Dembe stilled in the middle of a conversation with Rosalie and Marietta, pulling Red's satellite phone from the pocket of his jeans. "Excuse me, I should take this."_

_Raymond turned in question, seeing his compatriot mouth 'Gavin' before stepping out of the room. Red's attention returned to the group at large, noting he and Rosalie had a rare moment of distraction in which the others were all preoccupied._

_Horace was busy giving Otto the business for the clipped mustache he had apparently been sporting for several months. The Armels and Cedric were boisterously exchanging the first gifts of the night, passing the festively wrapped presents hurriedly across the table._

_Knowing they would not be overheard, Raymond turned his curiosity back toward Rosalie,_ _"Now, who exactly is Cedric in all of this?"_

_Rosalie spared the dark haired man a passing glance, "Cedric Durant is Florian's right hand, consider him a consigliere of sorts."_

_"He looks awfully young for a consigliere." Red watched the two men exchanging genial banter over a pair of ornately wrapped boxes which they had swapped moments earlier.  
_

_Cedric shook his head and grinned, carefully lifting an expensive Patek Philippe from his opened box. He clapped his hands together, roaring his delight in rapid French before gathering Florian in a massive hug._

_Rosalie beamed at the two, the love she held for both men quite evident in her gaze. She leaned into Raymond's sphere, whispering in an undertone. "Lucien, Cedric's father, was Florian's best friend. Monsieur Durant acted as the Armels' closest advisor for literal decades. Cedric's mother, Apolline, passed away when he was just a young man. The Durant men came to live alongside Florian and Marietta shortly after, but Lucien only lasted a year before cancer took him as well. Cedric was only seventeen at the time."_

_Both fugitives looked up as Marietta cooed her excitement over a lovely diamond brooch which Cedric had gifted her. She flung her arms around him and kissed his cheeks in thanks before having him help her pin the trinket to her sweater. It was evident, care anyone look, that the Armels treated Cedric as a favored son._

_"Florian and Marietta painstakingly guided Cedric through the loss of his last remaining family member, all the heartache and grief that comes with it. Both promised he would always have a home with them and a lucrative position in the Corsican's syndicate. He's never left the family since. Cedric is a kind soul, a good man. Horace may have been my first companion when I came to this life, but Cedric is secretly, by far, my closest."_

_Raymond considered Cedric for a beat then looked back at Rosalie, his tone playful, "Should I be jealous of the competition, my dear?"_

_Rosalie snorted with laughter, "Absolutely not. He's like a very annoying older brother, there is no competition."_

_Cedric chose that exact moment to toss a wad of colorful tissue paper at Rosalie's face._

_She wrinkled her nose in disdain, picking up the multicolored ball and flinging it back at him, hitting the man square in the forehead. "See what I mean?"_

_"**Les enfants.**" _

_Marietta's tone was at once amused and chiding, causing the two perpetrators to return their hands to their laps, sharing a look which indicated they would be settling this feud later._

_"Raymond, you need to take this."_

_Dembe had reappeared at his shoulder, quietly holding the satellite phone out for Red to take. His expression was unmoving, alerting Raymond to the fact there was a serious issue afoot._

_He took the phone, giving Rosalie a reassuring glance before leaving the room._

_"Gavin, what's going on?"_

_The man's voice came in a frenzied whisper. "Raymond, I'm in trouble. The Feds are looking into our involvement. They came to my house, **my house**, Raymond. Harassing Judith and the kids-"_

_Red froze, interrupting the man with a sharp clip, "Tell me everything. What did they know? What did they ask?"_

_Gavin quickly relived the events of the past several hours, divulging every piece of information he believed to be relevant. "I have no desire to talk to the authorities, Red, but I need certain assurances for my family. I need your help."_

_Raymond didn't hesitate, "Anything they need, they'll be cared for, you know that. Judith and the kids will want for nothing. What I'm more worried about is where you are going to hide."_

_"My family is my only concern." Gavin assured, then seemed to come back to himself, "That being said...if I'm to live out my days in hiding, there's an innkeeper I'd like you to contract for the exchange."_

_Raymond immediately became suspicious at this, "This innkeeper you want me to use, what do they call themselves?"_

_"I've yet to hear the name, all I know is she's a woman."_

_"Of course she is," Red grinned, carefully keeping the amusement from leaking into his voice. Of course it was a woman. There was only one innkeeper he knew of with the kind of infamy that would put her on Gavin's radar, and she was in the other room._

_"She's elusive, Raymond. Impossible to track. The underground is all a titter but nobody knows how to find her."_

_Raymond bit back a chuckle,"Which is exactly what you want from the person providing your safehouse. If she were easy to find, she'd be of no use to anyone."_

_"Yes," agreed Gavin, "I was hoping you might know someone in her circle. Word on the street is only those whose friends are already in the network stand a chance of getting in contact with her."_

_Raymond managed to withhold a dry chuckle from leaping from his mouth "I love a good game of cat and mouse. How does one know if they've encountered a member of this elusive woman's clientele?"_

_"I've been told her network is affectionately referred to as The Alcázar. Her clients use the name to identify themselves. You know more people in the criminal world than anyone I know, surely you must know at least one client of hers."_

_Red turned at the sound of a heavy wooden door closing behind him._

_A pair of arms circled his midsection, the innkeeper in question having come to see what was keeping him._

_"I'm sure I know a client or two." He smirked, one hand reaching to brush a thumb along Rosalie's flushed cheek. "I'll have an answer within twenty-four hours. Until then, stay with your family. The day after Christmas, you should make the run for my storage facility, 4090 Delaware Avenue. I'm sure you can make it there unfollowed?"_

_Gavin heaved a heavy sigh, "I can be there tonight."_

_His disparaged response was cause for concern. Raymond carefully broached the subject of the man's wife and children, "Gavin, there is more than enough space for Judith and the kids, and the FBI won't be able to gather enough intel to take you down in the next thirty-six hours. Let Judith and the boys enjoy one last Christmas in Philly, I'll have security keeping an eye out, you don't need to worry."_

_A pregnant silence stretched several long moments before Gavin finally spoke. _

_"I'm not dragging Judith and the kids into this, Ray."_

_Raymond felt Rosalie stiffen in his arms upon hearing Gavin's steely tone cut through the connection. _

_"You're leaving them behind."_

_"Yes."_

_"You should think very carefully about this, Gavin-" Red began, but the other man would hear none of it._

_"I've made my decision. I made it the moment I started working for you. I'll meet your associates at 4090 Delaware at midnight."_

_A sharp click could be heard, followed by a stagnant dial tone, the conversation effectively ended._

_"What's happened to Gavin?" Rosalie asked, her brow pinched with concern._

_Red relayed the gist of the conversation, from Gavin's impromptu run-in with the FBI to his request for entry into her network._

_"You know, I never facilitated permanent housing until I started running around with you," Rosalie admitted, "but I can't deny I rather enjoy it. I've got a number of locations where I can hold them until we've found the appropriate place to build their new lives. There's a blacksite outside of Pittsburgh big enough to house all of the Pruitts-"_

_She caught herself at this, realizing her mistake._

_"It sounds like Gavin is walking this road alone," Raymond reminded gently, wrapping his arms around her waist._

_Rosalie released a shaky breath, "His wife. Judith's going to wake up to an empty bed, her marriage and family torn apart. I can't even imagine...Do you think he'll come to his senses?"_

_"Perhaps." _

_He was unconvinced, she could see it in his eyes._

_Red didn't look away from the imploring gaze._

_"She won't know-" Rosalie attempted to explain, but fell short, her head bowing in despair._

_He cupped her cheek once more, a broad thumb circling its delicate surface. "Won't know what, little dove?"_

_Her eyes lifted, heartbreak marring her normally radiant features. "Judith won't know it's the last time she'll kiss her husband goodnight, it's the last evening she'll spend in his arms. Those precious few comforts, last expressions of love...the kinds of things which will have to carry her through what comes next, and she won't know until it's too late."_

_A wry expression darkened Raymond's visage. "It's an agonizing thing to do, but he believes he's doing what's best for those he loves. Can you fault him for such an outlook?" _

_Red hated that he wanted her approval on this. __His heart clenched with insecurity; if Rosalie couldn't empathize with Gavin's plight, how could she ever reconcile with his own?_

_Carla Reddington had been in Judith's shoes once, a mere nine years ago. What would Rosalie say if she ever discovered the truth about Raymond's supposed ex-wife?_

_"I couldn't do it." She admitted finally, laying her head against his chest. "I get why Gavin's doing what he's doing, understand it, but I don't think I could walk away and not say anything. Perhaps that makes me selfish."_

_He breathed a sigh of relief, resting his chin atop her head. _ _"How on earth does honesty make you selfish?" _

_Rosalie let out a huff and squeezed him more tightly, "Because I know, if I told you, you wouldn't let me go."_

_Raymond inhaled a deep, soothing breath into the soft curls nestled against him, the truth coming to him without pause._

_"You're right, I wouldn't."_

* * *

Dembe stood to greet Gavin, shaking the man's hand and directing him to their corner table.

Raymond took Rosalie's hand and guided her from her seat to meet their newest client. He reached out, giving Gavin's hand a firm shake before making a sweeping gesture toward the woman beside him.

"Gavin, this is Rosalie Øllegaard, she's the innkeeper our friends have been whispering about from the shadows. As you requested, I've contracted her and her contingent of infamous associates to facilitate your upcoming move. Rosalie, this is Gavin Pruitt, one of my most most trusted accountants."

Rosalie beamed warmly at the man, offering her hand, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you Mr. Pruitt, I've heard great things."

Gavin gave a curt nod. "As have I. Tales of your syndicate's illustrious reputation are spoken with a quiet reverence in the underground."

This seemed to amuse Rosalie greatly, "So I've heard...My clients, criminals looking for entrance, they have a name for my network, don't they?"

"The Alcázar, the Spanish definition of a fortified castle. Quite evocative. Though, I've yet to overhear what they call _you_." Gavin's gaze was at once curious and scrutinizing.

Rosalie's lips lifted into a serene smile, "Please have a seat, I'm eager to show my network, at the very least, is worthy of its name."

The group retook their seats, whereupon Rosalie held out an expectant hand.

Ted produced a black leather folio, placing it into her outstretched palm. He flashed Gavin a genial grin, rocking once on the balls of his feet before returning to the pretty girl at the bar.

Red only halfway listened as Rosalie began to explain the intricacies of her network, her role in Gavin's relocation, and the homes she had available for his permanent accommodation.

* * *

_Seville, Spain - January 13, 2000_

_Raymond had waited a couple weeks after receiving Gavin's call to take Rosalie on a date to Spain._

_They had been dating for six months, a milestone which Red was intent on celebrating. He and Rosalie had quietly observed each month spent together in the sanctuary of their bedroom with flowers and decadent desserts and even more decadent lovemaking...but this one, he decided, needed to be more special, more official than those prior. Six months had gone by in the blink of an eye, and most criminal relationships never made it this far without something catastrophic happening._

_To commemorate the occasion, Raymond had the historic Alcázar of Seville and its grounds closed for dinner and a private tour._

_The two arrived after a long day of managing their respective businesses, ready for a bit of quiet comfort away from prying eyes._

_Rosalie's eyes shone brightly, taking in the magnificent surroundings. The blossoming gardens were teeming with life from their lush green grasses to their rows of tall, slender palms. The courtyard they walked through was framed by beautiful archways decorated in ornate tiles and climbing flowers. It was truly a stunning venue._

_Raymond stealthily guided his companion to a hidden alcove tucked amongst some climbing ivy, unable to withhold the news any longer. "I discovered something very interesting as of late."_

_His companion swung his hand leisurely with her own, continuing their tour into the alcove's soaring archways. "Hmm?"_

_A chuckle greeted her distracted response, "You've made it to the big leagues."_

_"What do you mean?" She asked, eyes half-lidded, enamored with the space and the presence of her lover._

_"Your network has a name." Red divulged, a palpable heat evident in his tone._

_"Oh really?" Rosalie grinned, rather intrigued by the idea. Her palms smoothed up his chest to rest on his shoulders. "Tell me more."_

_He grinned back at her, backing them further into the alcove so he could kiss her properly. "If your network has a name, I'm certain you've already been bestowed one. I'm keeping my ears to the ground to find out what it might be."_

_Rosalie tittered softly, reciprocating the kiss until her curiosity got the better of her. Taking Red's hand in hers, Rosalie practically squirmed with curiosity. "So...What do they call my network?"_

_Raymond smiled to himself, turning to continue their slow walk through the gardens. "Well, security and secrecy are key, so individuals hoping to be brought into the fold utilize a code phrase to covertly identify active clients. They need only ask their friends if they've been invited to stay in the penthouses at the Alcázar."_

_Rosalie turned about in a circle, taking in the splendor of the palatial estate surrounding them. "The penthouses at the Alcázar? My clients, they equate my network to a place like this?"_

_A warm hand slipped about her waist, bringing Rosalie back into Red's sphere. He watched her reaction with undisguised delight, "An Alcázar is a palace and a fortress in equal measure. This one was only a fort at first, built in the tenth century by the first Caliph of Andalucía. The current palace, however, was built in the fourteenth century. Its beauty is matched only by its safety. A very adept comparison, if you ask me..."_

_He was surprised when he turned to see a tear slip from the corner of her eye. "Rosalie?"_

_She beamed an incandescent though watery smile, "I've always loved the architecture of the Mujedar...I think the Alcázar is a lovely name."_

_Raymond pressed his lips to her temple, pleased that she was happy with this new development. "It certainly is. If they did so well in naming your network, I can't wait to find out what the powers that be have named **you**."_

_Rosalie laughed outright, "How did my clients even start such a thing? You're my closest client and you're just finding this out. What's to say the others are even aware of this code?"_

_Red gave a shrug, "I learned this tidbit from Gavin, actually, when he asked me to find you."_

_A pointed look was exchanged between the two of them._

_"Well, we've certainly succeeded in keeping our involvement from prying eyes." Rosalie conceded, "Even your accountant doesn't know we live together."_

_They both laughed at this, pleased and more than a little amused by their efforts._

_A comfortable silence enveloped them, broken only by the steady crunch of gravel beneath their feet._

_At the end of the lane, Raymond ushered them into another hidden alcove where an intimate setting sat waiting, perched in the eaves of a hoard of climbing wisteria. _

_Candles lit the space in a warm, flickering glow, and somewhere in the palace, a jazz quintet was playing._

_Rosalie squeezed Red's hand tightly, recognizing the same array of flowers that he had given her on their first date resting in the center of the neatly dressed table._

_"Oh, Raymond...It's so very beautiful."_

* * *

"Oh, Raymond...He was very convincing about your case."

Red was pulled from that night and thrust back into the chair he occupied, hardly aware of the conversation going on around him.

Gavin's lips pursed thoughtfully, looking between the two of them. "I must admit, I was surprised at how quickly he was able to get in contact with you. I expected you to be almost impossible to find."

The entire group chuckled, sharing a barrage of knowing looks.

Rosalie readily stepped in to soothe Gavin's nerves, "You shouldn't be surprised. You work for one of the most well-connected criminals in the world."

Raymond preened under the compliment, adding, "There's nobody in the game like Rosalie, Gavin. The moment you mentioned her network I knew there was only one person it could be. Luckily for you, she and I have worked together periodically this year, so she was a much easier find than she'd normally be."

Gavin seemed appeased by this, nodding for Rosalie to continue where she left off.

She spared a glance for her companion, tossing him a sly wink before shifting right back into their negotiations.

* * *

_They enjoyed a delicious candle-lit dinner in the quiet serenity of their hidden courtyard in the Alcázar, culminating in spectacular desserts of toasted crema catalana and flaky, chocolate-filled miguelitos._

_Rosalie was perched in Red's lap, winking playfully at him as the desserts were brought and the remnants of their dinner cleared away._

_Raymond lifted the decanter and poured the last of the robust Bobal wine they had been drinking into his wine glass, lifting his dessert spoon with a grin._

_From their very first date, they had continued the tradition of cozying up together and sharing desserts over the last glass of wine. It was intimate, fun, and the perfect way to end a romantic date together._

_"Your gift is back at the house..." Rosalie informed him, holding out a spoonful of miguelito for him to sample._

_Raymond took the bite with a hum of approval, "Mmm...So is yours. I don't suppose mine involves our bedroom?"_

_He received a scathing look for his lasciviousness, a look which quickly had him shaking with repressed laughter._

_"It involves a humidor." She retorted with a pointed arch of her brow._

_Red's smile widened, "You didn't."_

_The mention of their humidor could only mean his companion had commandeered another shipment of stolen cigars. Raymond admitted, he had been missing the simple luxury of a hand-rolled Cohiba after a long day. He and Rosalie had been occupying themselves with their own enjoyable pastimes, true, but he was very much looking forward to his stash being replenished. In fact, having such an enticing vice would all but ensure he would have a warm and willing blonde perched in his lap at the end every day from now until September.  
_

_The knowledge had him very happy, indeed._

_"Oh...I did," She grinned deviously for where his mind had undoubtedly wandered. Cupping his cheek in her palm, she guided his mouth to hers. "It seems Fidel just can't keep a hold on his maids...or his cigars."_

_Red chuckled to himself, as always, delighted by her thievery. "My little Machiavellian..." The sentiment was purred against the plump curvature of her lips before he claimed her mouth in a slow, sensual kiss that made their insides burn._

* * *

"Gavin, I would be remiss if I didn't offer..." Rosalie looked to Red for guidance, but his eyes were once again glazed over. She turned back toward Gavin, "Your family. They _are_ welcome to come with you. It would be very easy for me to provide a slightly larger home to suit all of you. Raymond could easily get new documents for them as well-"

"No Ma'am, absolutely not." Gavin's flat baritone was clear and decisive on the matter, "This is my fault, my choices led to this. My family doesn't deserve to have their lives upended by my mistakes."

Red knew it was killing the man to leave behind the woman he loved. He had never met Gavin's family, for obvious reasons, but the way he spoke about Judith...it was clear as day how much he adored and cherished the love of his life. Raymond couldn't imagine the agony he was going through. He too had offered to give Judith and the kids new identities, to relocate them together, but as he had with Rosalie, Gavin staunchly refused.

There was something to be said for a man willing to endure such pain for the sake of those he loved.

Raymond could certainly understand Gavin's motivations and applauded him for having the stomach to do what needed to be done.

Rosalie, it seemed, did not agree with such a sentiment.

"You don't think their lives will be upended by you disappearing into the ether? Your wife will never know what happened to her husband, your children will never know what happened to their father-"

Raymond placed a comforting hand on her thigh beneath the table, signaling she should stop. "We'll make it look as though Gavin died."

Rosalie gave both men an appalled look, "How in the _hell_ is that any better?"

Gavin shifted in his seat, his demeanor becoming a mite testy. "Because if they believe I'm dead, there's a finality to it. Closure. It will be a dark period in their lives, but my family will eventually come to terms with my passing and be allowed to live the rest of their days unencumbered by the weight of my sins. Their innocence will remain intact. It's the least I can do for getting them in this mess."

Gavin and Rosalie scowled at each other for several long moments. Then, the latter turned back toward her companion.

"How?"

"What do you mean, Rosalie?" Red's tone was placating, and he fought the urge to smile when she leveled him a scrutinizing glare.

"_How_ are you going to fake his death, Raymond?"

He shrugged, "The Feds already know Gavin's involved with me, we're going to spread the word he was speaking to them and I did what was necessary to keep him silent. The authorities won't even question it."

This, apparently, was not the answer Rosalie had been expecting. "I see. Excuse me, I need another drink." She stood and made for the bar, leaving both men in her wake.

The two shared a sheepish glance before Raymond carefully glossed over the awkward silence, "I think we could all use another round. I'll be back momentarily."

Red stood and made his way to the side of the bar, where he could see Rosalie tucked away from prying eyes. He came up alongside her, flagging down the bartender. "Four Aguilas, a scotch neat, and whatever's on her tab, please." He inclined his head toward his companion and set a stack of Colombian pesos on the bar top.

The bartender gave a curt nod, pocketing the notes before cracking the tops of four dark brown bottles and pulling out a heavy glass.

Raymond gently broached the subject which had wedged itself between him and his lover, "I know, little dove. I know you don't agree with his decision, but at the end of the day, it's Gavin's decision."

Rosalie immediately went on the defensive, "I know that, but I've helped rob his wife and children of their husband and father, I'm allowed to feel a small measure of guilt. I'm allowed to take a moment and consider those he's leaving behind, especially when no-one else seems to be doing so."

The discontent behind the statement wasn't warranted, considering how little Rosalie knew of Judith Pruitt and her family, and yet, Red could still hear the hurt lingering in her tone.

"You're deeply bothered by this," he noted, "What has you so riled up, Rosalie? Talk to me."

"Do you agree with his choice?" She asked, watching his expression carefully.

"It doesn't matter if I agree with his choice." Raymond leaned an elbow on the bar, "It shouldn't matter to you, either."

He had seen this scenario enough times to know how the events would play out. It genuinely didn't matter what they believed, the client would always do what they thought best. It was part of the job.

"It does matter to me," Rosalie insisted, "Do you think he's doing the right thing by abandoning his wife and children so they can live their same old lives, even though it's a lie? Even though it will tear them apart? We've hardly been dating six months, and I can tell you, if you did this to me, I would be absolutely livid."

Red's posture relaxed, finally understanding what had her so upset. She was worried his approval of Gavin's decision to leave his family indicated Raymond would be willing to do the same to her if the worst came to pass. Rosalie refused to be left over something so trivial as her own safety. The thought made him smile, the action fueling the flames of her frustration.

"...and what about _you_?" She barreled onward, hitting her stride, "Are you content to allow the world to think you shot Gavin dead in a ditch for being in contact with the Feds when you know it's not true? You're content to add that to the list of crimes for which you could someday be held accountable? You're innocent, but those vultures in the justice system would be happy to end you for it without any kind of proof-"

He reached out a hand to pull Rosalie into his sphere, intent on soothing the agitation darkening her features.

"_How are you okay with this?_" she snapped, allowing herself to be pulled into his arms despite her crackling temper.

Warm lips traveled the length of her slender neck, stopping to rest at her earlobe, "This is what I'm best at, Rosalie; covering up the misdeeds of others, giving them a clean slate and maintaining the sanctity of those precious few things they cherish in life. That's why I am the criminal I am. I give people a way out."

Raymond leaned back, bringing her gaze to his own, "Once you've got a bounty on your head, once you've stepped into the shoes of a most-wanted criminal, it doesn't matter what you add to the rap sheet. I focus my every move on keeping myself ten steps ahead of any kind of law enforcement. It's a strange kind of immunity, knowing no matter what you do you'll still get death row. It makes every other crime you commit rather meaningless."

Rosalie shrank back a bit at this, but he could tell she agreed with his logic.

"To answer your question, I completely agree with Gavin's decision, agonizing though it may be for everyone involved. Gavin's doing the right thing, the _selfless_ thing, by protecting his family from his own mistakes. Two of the people I admire most in this world walked away from it all to keep their loved ones safe. Raymond Reddington walked away from not one but two families, once upon a time. I can only hope I would be strong enough to do the same if I were in h-" he quickly corrected himself, "in Gavin's position.

Red vividly remembered what Florian had said to him that day in the Armel's greenhouses. '_Armel women are not wallflowers_.' Rosalie needed to know that though he agreed with Gavin's decision, it did not mean he would ever be willing to do the same to her.

"There's a colossal difference between us and the Pruitts, Rosalie. You know full well what I get up to every day. Hell, you play an active and complacent role in my life as a criminal. There's no point in hiding any of it from you or trying to shelter you from it. Simply because I agree with Gavin' choice, doesn't mean it would every be an option for you and I."

He watched a deep, steady breath leave her body, the slight frame relaxing visibly at this statement. A small, warm hand reached out to rest atop his own, giving it a grateful squeeze.

"We should return to the others, lest we spook our client."

Rosalie nodded, her shoulders pulling back and her chin lifting, her body steeling its resolve to complete the deal they had with Gavin.

"What if you _did_ get arrested?" She asked tentatively, wanting to resolve the last dregs of uncertainty between them.

Raymond grinned, "You and Dembe would have the immense satisfaction of organizing a prison break for yours truly."

Rosalie tittered at this before her voice dropped to a sincere whisper. "As much fun as that sounds...Don't get caught, okay?"

Red, leaned and kissed her forehead, "I'll do my very best, little dove."

She took a step toward their table, then turned around once more."And don't be a noble sod," she added, much to his amusement, "If you're ever in his position, if you ever feel like you have to choose...I- Well, I wouldn't want you to go alone."

The request tore mercilessly at Red's heartstrings, stealing the very breath from his lungs with its timid sincerity.

Where so many of their contemporaries were cold, cruel, and cynical, Rosalie was a constant contradiction.

She was warmth incarnate, compassionate almost to a fault, and, secretly, an eternal optimist. She kept a man like Red on his toes, made him strive to be better, to be more.

Watching her saunter across the bar, Red realized he had known the truth for a while now.

He loved her.

Raymond loved Rosalie, and tonight, when they could finally find a corner of quiet solitude, he would tell her so.

He wouldn't wait another second.

Rosalie turned a searching gaze back toward the bar, seeing Raymond watching her with a kind of intensity she hadn't yet seen before. She couldn't help the pink flush which graced her cheeks, the very depths of her stirring in response to his avid attention.

* * *

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Gavin. Your transport is parked outside, operated by Raymond's associates. They will take you to my blacksite in Bogota tonight, where you can rest until your flight tomorrow afternoon. My associates will meet you on the tarmac once you land in Portland and take you to your new home, and we'll go from there."

"And my identification, papers, et cetera?" Gavin turned expectantly toward Reddington, who was contentedly swirling his scotch.

"Your new identification, banking information, and all other lifestyle-related paraphernalia will be waiting for you in the house's safe. The code will be given to you upon arrival, and you can open it once Rosalie's associates have vacated the premises."

Gavin seemed pleased with this, "Very well. Thank you, both of you, for making this disastrous situation a touch easier," his dark eyes turned to Rosalie, "I do appreciate you considering my family in all of this. I know it can't be easy helping a man to abandon those who depend on him, but..." He took a deep, steadying breath, "There's never been a soul on this earth whom I've ever loved the way I love my Judith. She deserves better than a life on the run. She deserves a good life, even if it means we don't get to spend that life together."

Much to Red's surprise, Rosalie took Gavin's hand in both of her own. "There are no easy decisions here, Gavin. You're doing what you believe to be right, I can't fault you for that."

A wry smile pulled at Gavin's lips, "It's a shame Judith didn't know what I was up to. I have a feeling the two of you could have been good friends."

"In another life, perhaps." She agreed, standing to embrace him and wish him luck in his next chapter.

Red stood as well, "I'll walk you out, we can go over the provision for your family on the way."

Rosalie watched the two men's backs as they retreated through the establishment. She turned to Dembe with a sigh, "I'm going to step into the ladies' room, will you let Ray know I haven't taken off?"

"Of course," he assured, returning to the card game he had instigated with Kate.

Ted was still at the bar with the pretty girl, his posture relaxing as Rosalie passed by, pointing carelessly toward the hallway where the bathrooms were.

* * *

Red stared suspiciously at the door to the ladies' bathroom.

Dembe had informed him Rosalie was in there once he returned from saying goodbye to Gavin.

That was nearly ten minutes ago.

She was taking an inordinate amount of time in there. Perhaps she was feeling unwell? He continued only halfway listening to what was going on around him. The dark green eyes flitted to the door every thirty seconds, willing it to open. Maybe she was still upset about Judith and the kids...

He would giver her a few more minutes to gather herself if need be.

Raymond barely made it to the three minute mark.

He finally pushed his seat back and strode unceremoniously over to the door. He tapped his fingers on its wooden surface.

"Rosalie?"

There was no answer. He tapped again, a little more forcefully, but to no response. Red reached down and gripped the handle, finding it locked. Dembe, Kate, and Ted hurried over, bearing identical expressions of concern. Without preamble, Raymond leaned back and kicked the door open with a crash, causing a commotion among the other patrons in the bar.

A chill ran up his spine as he peered into the empty room.

The tiled floor was devoid of any marks, the lone window was ajar, and there were no indications anyone in the room but themselves.

Red stepped forward, pushing open the two metal doors to the two small stalls as he searched the room for any sign of Rosalie.

"Raymond."

Dembe's somber voice called softly from the entry.

Red whipped around, hoping to see the woman he was looking for standing safely in the doorway.

Instead, he saw Kate Kaplan kneeling in the same spot, pointing gravely toward a small droplet of blood hidden behind the door.


	30. Stolen

_"Nobody knew what I was up to...They still don't know...I've never felt as alone as I did then." _

_Flashback - Leslie County, Kentucky - March, 1993 _

_Georgie turned down the lengthy dirt drive leading up to her family home in the truck her father used to drive. She passed the battered white mailbox at the road's mouth, her hand reaching through the open window out of habit to drag her fingers along its surface. The neat black lettering of the family name had worn off over the years from this action. Now, only an 'H' and a half-smudged 'w' were left of the Haywood name. _

_The short ride reminded her of the multitudinous repairs which needed to be made to the property. The split-pole fencing had begun to rot long ago, the grass bordering the road was slowly encroaching upon the driving path due to lack of use, the stable needed to be painted, the horses needed exercising, and the house was an animal of its own. _

_She had her work cut out for her, that much was certain. _

_To cap it all, as she pulled up alongside the largest of the seven paddocks on the ranch, the check engine light kicked on. _

_"Dammit," she groaned, throwing the vehicle in park and dropping her head onto the steering wheel with a dejected thump. _

_God only knew what that damn light meant and how much it would cost to fix. _

_A red hot bubble of anger suddenly burst in her chest, flaring like wildfire all the way down to her toes. Small fists beat the wheel's worn leather surface in a blind fury, the injustice of it all serving to fan the flames of her indignation once more. _

_It just wasn't fair. _

_Her parents, the home, their finances, none of it. _

_How could anyone expect her to cope with all of this? _

_With a hearty sniff, Georgie gathered herself, blinking back the tears of frustration which had been threatening to spill over since early that morning. _

_The first was when she dropped her best friend Luli at the airport. Lu had generously offered to help pack up Mrs. Haywood's personal effects and prepare the house for an estate sale. She had stayed as long as she could, but needed to head back to California on the red-eye that morning. The women hugged each other tightly amidst Luli's promises to call later that night and Georgie's repeated gratitude for all of her help before they finally parted and Lu boarded her flight. _

_The second blow occurred when Georgie returned home and loaded up the remaining thoroughbreds from her family's stables to take to auction. She had stared at the empty stalls for a long while, able to perfectly imagine her father rolling in his grave at the thought of the Haywood ranch being barren. It was a small godsend he wasn't alive to see that day come to pass. _

_The third instance came about when Georgie reached the auction house and received insultingly low estimations on the value of her stock. She hadn't been an active part in the ranch's mechanisms since high school, but the young Miss Haywood had the common sense to review her father's books to know what a reasonable value of the remaining stock should be. _

_All hope seemed lost when not one bid was placed on the horses she had brought. Not a single one. It was then that Georgie knew she was being blackballed by the county. Someone had put out the word not to bid, because that same someone or someones intended on pushing her to sell everything for a song. _

_As it stood, the likelihood of making the next mortgage payment was slim to none. There was less than three weeks to come up with nearly ten grand. The only remaining hope would be the estate sale which would be occurring the following morning. _

_With such an unpleasant experience to look forward to, she hopped out of the truck and began unloading the horses one by one into the large paddock. _

_Ten thoroughbreds in varying shades of brown, black, gray, and chestnut were soon grazing contentedly in the open pasture, their tall, sleek forms haloed in the golden glow of a setting sun. The woman couldn't help a small smile for the idyllic picture they painted. _

_Closing up the horse trailer, she trudged slowly back toward the house, kicking aside the few stray pebbles which littered her path. Habitually wiping her boots on the welcome mat, she steppe inside and called out, seeking the house's only other occupant. _

_"Mama?" _

_"In here Georgie," came the reply, the familiar voice coming from the dining room where Georgie's mother was dutifully unfolding and refolding linens. _

_"Mama, what are you doing?" She asked exasperatedly, "We're supposed to be packing your things." _

_Mama was hardly deterred, "Oh, I...I know that. I just...remind me why I have to leave, again?" _

_"You can't stay here, Mama." Georgie reiterated, "There's not enough money to keep this place afloat." _

_Mama shook her head, her nose turning up with her disagreement, "Your father, he had a life insurance policy. We need to call the lawyer, he should have a check for us…" _

_The younger of the Haywood women tried to gently explain their situation once more, "Mama, the policy is void, remember? The payments lapsed while Daddy was in the hospital. Judge Tompkin ruled in favor of the insurance company." _

_"I know that," Mama snapped, her cheeks flushing a dull red, "but Tiberius Welch, your Dad's lawyer, he's going to take care of it, they'll pay out. Then we can come home." _

_Georgie didn't have it in her to fight her mother on this today. She wanted to say Tiberius was a lazy mule who rolled over rather than do any actual lawyering on their behalf. As far as she was concerned both Tiberius and his brother were useless blowhards who'd never done an honest day's work in their lives. _

_Instead, she let out an exasperated sigh, bit her tongue, and continued packing. _

_"Gerogiana Rosalie Haywood, I am in no mood for your attitude." Her mother's voice cracked like a whip, and much to Georgiana's annoyance, she felt herself flinch in response. _

_Ah, the ubiquitous middle name shame game. _

_No matter one's age, the use of one's entire given name by a parent would forever be an indicator of wrongdoing. _

_Personally, Georgiana had alway loved her middle name. It had belonged to her great grandmother, a black sheep from her mother's side of the family whom Mrs. Haywood had quietly adored. _

_An antiquated photo of great grandma Rosie in her wild youth had been posted on Georgie's vanity mirror for as long as she could remember. Another photo containing a baby Georgiana in the arms of Rosalie and her husband Gerald, hung on the wall in front of her. _

_Baleful gray eyes spared a look for the photo in question,Georgie's mind formulating a strange sort of apology that the occupants of the stationary photo were forced to witness their family's dismantling. _

_"Mama, don't you think I'd give anything to keep you in this house?" _

_Georgiana wasn't entirely sure her mother realized that moving her out was killing Georgie too. _

_"I can't do it, I've looked at every possible avenue. I can't take care of you every day and still pay the bills. I can barely keep up the mortgage payments as it is. I know this is the last thing you wanted, but I'm doing everything I can…I didn't want this either." _

_Georgiana made her way into the kitchen without another word, proceeding to box up her mother's preferred coffee mugs and tea cups, tucking a new box of chamomile tea, a bag of her favorite coffee, and a stack of soft linen napkins in with the bunch. _

_Mama gave her a few minutes of solitude then appeared in the kitchen doorway. She gave her daughter a small, placating smile. "I know you're doing your best, baby. I can take care of myself, though, I promise." _

_Georgiana held back the fresh wave of despair threatening to spill over. "You **can't**, Mama, and that's okay. There is nothing to be ashamed of in needing a little help. I want you to be able to enjoy your retirement without worrying about whether you've paid the bills, if you've eaten, if you've filled your prescriptions...I want you to be able to relax, to be happy." _

_"I'd be happier if I could live out my days in my own home." Mama grumbled under her breath, the reply serving to add another heaping helping of guilt to Georgiana's conscience._

_The last night the Haywood women spent in their family home was a tense affair. Rather than reminiscing over the best times of their lives together in that house, Georgiana spent the rest of the night treading eggshells with her mother. In the vein of keeping her happy, she made all of her mother's favorite things for dinner. _

_Two hours after her return, Georgiana placed a platter of crispy fried chicken in the center of the table, the dish wafting mouth-watering curls of steam in all directions. Alongside the platter were two small dishes bearing yellow tomatoes and grilled okra while two roasted yams sat piping hot on a small plate between them. A mound of fluffy buttermilk biscuits capped the small feast, resting in a wire basket at the end of the kitchen table. _

_"It all looks delicious, baby girl." _

_Georgiana felt her mother's arms wrap around her, giving a comforting squeeze before they sat down to dinner._

* * *

_The following morning was a somber one as Georgiana loaded her mother's belongings into her father's truck. Mama's discontent had resurfaced with every box and garment bag her daughter placed in the truck bed. _

_The women climbed into the vehicle shortly after, making the short drive to the outskirts of the nearest city, pulling into a neat little parking lot lined with trees, its brick and limestone welcome sign read, 'Honeysuckle Ridge Independent Living Community'. _

_A very smiley woman named Kelly was waiting to greet them with a team of moving men in tow. _

_"Hello, hello! Why don't y'all come on in and make yourselves at home, I'm Kelly Anderson, we spoke on the phone. You must be Georgiana and this," she aimed her dazzling smile at Mama, "This must be your lovely mother, Helen." _

_Helen Haywood blinked stoically at the sizzling ball of entirely too much energy standing before her in a modern peach colored dress, then swiveled her head toward her daughter, her look a condemning one. _

_Kelly gave Georgiana and her mother another tour of the facilities, culminating in the one bedroom apartment Mrs. Haywood would be occupying for the foreseeable future. The movers had made short work of her belongings, the array of boxes and bags were already stacked neatly in their proper rooms, ready for unpacking. _

_Mama had said nothing since they arrived, silently observing her surroundings without comment. _

_"I'll stop by to help you unpack everything after the estate sale, okay?" Georgie has been watching her mother carefully since they arrived, hoping she would warm up to her new surroundings a little before she had to leave _

_Mrs. Haywood merely nodded and shuffled from the room without so much as a goodbye. _

_Georgiana cleared her throat and gave a jerky nod, not really looking in the other woman's direction, her eyes still on the hallway through which her mother retreated. "I can come back this evening, can't I?" _

_"Of course," Kelly intervened, patting her arm and guiding her gingerly toward the exit, "Our visiting hours are till 10 pm." _

_"I'm sorry," Georgiana immediately apologized, "She's usually much more friendly than this...My mother's become a touch forgetful over the past few months, it's resulted in a bit of animosity. She might not recall why she's here-" _

_"Don't you worry Miss Haywood," Kelly assured, resting a gentle hand on Georgiana's forearm, "There's a transition period for all new residents. Helen will warm up to this new chapter before you know it. As for the forgetfulness, once your mother settles into a consistent routine with her medication and her new lifestyle, you'll be surprised how quickly that cognitive function bounces back."_

* * *

_"Well, I'll be damned, if it's not little Georgie Haywood!" _

_The woman in question inhaled a deep, calming breath through her nose, feeling her insides roil with loathing for the voice which carried from the bar's entrance. _

_She was in absolutely no mood for this. _

_Georgiana had just returned from Honeysuckle Ridge, where her mother had flatly refused to see her, stating she was too tired for visitors before closing the door in her face. The drive back to town was abysmal, every mile Georgie put between her and her mother seemed to add to the weight pressing on her already heavy shoulders. _

_The estate sale had finished a couple hours before, and they were none the better off for it. A number of items sold, mostly thanks to some out-of-county buyers who were not in the midst of the silent battle going on between the Haywoods and everybody else. _

_Most of the people who came to the sale were just townsfolk looking for gossip. Fussy old southern women arrived in their delicate shawls with their prim daughters, girls who had not long ago stood beside Georgiana in their debutante gowns, cohorts of a privileged life, all eager to see how far the Haywoods had fallen. _

_They all tutted their ersatz commiserations then tittered in self-satisfied amusement behind pale church fans, the stiff fabric waving lazily to remind Georgiana that those women and their families held the keys to the county, of which she was now considered a flagrant outsider. _

_Their gleeful schadenfreude had her blood boiling all afternoon, and now, when she finally had a moment of solitude to drink away her ire, another county nuisance was raising his fat bald head. _

_Archie Higgs was the man calling loudly from the doorway. He and his family lived on a twenty-five acre ranch directly east of the Haywoods. _

_Georgiana had once deeply admired the Higgs, having grown up and gone through school with all three of Archie and Maribelle's children. She had even dated their eldest son Francis for a handful of years. Nowadays, she found Mr. Higgs to be abhorrent in the highest degree. _

_You see, Archie was actually one of five family ranches which shared borders with the Haywood estate. The six families had existed not only amicably, but with a deep sense of community for many years. The parents were friendly and helpful, the children spent most of their young lives together, and life was peaceful simplicity until the other families started getting greedy. _

_You see, it was evident from a young age that Georgiana Haywood loved the family's ranch, but had no interest in studding horses, raising thoroughbreds, or any of the like. _

_The girl's father, Magnus Haywood, was tall, soft spoken, and a complete pushover where his child was concerned. He encouraged his daughter toward whatever passions tickled her fancy, never once insisting she follow his footsteps. _

_Their fellow ranchers implored him to begin insisting she show a more active interest, perhaps by marrying a rancher, but Magnus had no ears for it. _

_He would always shake his head and deplore, "Surely, I'd hope my little rose petal marries for better reasons than making sure someone can take over for her old man."_

_With no one to take on the responsibility, the Haywoods would likely sell once Magnus became too old or too ill to continue running the place. Such an event would leave nearly a hundred acres of open land available for purchase. _

_This realization changed the ranchers' tune quickly enough, the prospect of owning even part of the parcel too exciting to pass up. _

_From then on, the heads of the five surrounding properties would meet with Mr. Haywood at the local watering hole at least once a week, drinking from old copper mugs and badgering him to sell. This continued for a number of years, until Magnus fell suddenly and seriously ill. _

_Friends and family visited him daily, keeping his spirits high over the months as his condition continued to worsen and the doctors' attempts at treating him failed one after the other. _

_Then, in the height of a warm Kentucky summer, Magnus Haywood could no longer fight. He passed away with his wife and daughter at his side, leaving the fate of their property to them. _

_The other ranchers didn't even have the decency to wait until Magnus was in the ground before setting their relentlessness on Mrs. Haywood. _

_Unfortunately for them, the loss of her husband had changed Helen Haywood, hardening her into a woman nobody recognized. Not only was she disinclined to sell, she had flat out refused to even meet with the neighboring ranchers or their wives, calling them all manner of names from vultures to carpetbaggers._

_Helen's condition deteriorated to the point her daughter had to get involved, taking over the family's finances and control of the estate in perpetuity. _

_Georgiana immediately set to selling, amassing a nest egg to support her mother until the house and land could be sold. Now, she was weeks away from the house going into foreclosure, and the whole town knew it._

_It was this, she knew, which had dragged Archie Higgs from the comfort of his typical Sunday evening spent cradled in the worn leather of a lazy boy recliner._

_"Arch." She acknowledged, hardly sparing a glance for the portly old rancher sidling up to the bar. _

_Much to her annoyance, he drew up a chair right beside her. _

_"I heard there was a decent turnout at the estate sale today?" _

_Her gaze didn't leave the back of the bar. "If, by decent turnout you mean a gaggle of county women coming to gawk at my family's well-publicized fall from grace, then yes, it was a great turnout." _

_Archie twirled the ends of his mustache around chubby fingers, "I sure am sorry for your troubles, Georgie. You know your daddy, he was a good man." _

_"Yes, he was." Georgiana agreed, clamping her teeth to keep back the diatribe she longed to hurl at him._

_He pointed to the six copper mugs sitting on the bar's top shelf, "That one on the right was your old man's. The five of us ranchers each drink from that cup twice a week in his memory."_

_Georgiana was pointedly silent, her eyes resting on the mug in question with a look of utmost loathing._

_"I'm sure you tire of hearing this," he blustered on, placing a beefy hand on her shoulder, "but you know as well as anyone Magnus'd want to sell to someone in the county." _

_"He didn't want to sell at all, Mr. Higgs, and certainly not for the pennies on the dollar you and the rest of our esteemed neighbors seem intent on offering." She leveled him a gaze which could curdle milk, brushing his hand from her person while holding his eyes with such scrutiny it made the man blanch. _

_"Surely, I don't know what you could possibly mean by that." Archie assured, smoothing over the uncomfortable silence with what could only be described as good old boy bravado. _

_Georgiana swiveled her seat so she was facing him. "I may be young, I may not be experienced in stud farming, but I know damn well what the Haywood estate is worth Mr. Higgs, so don't try my patience. The least you and the rest of your yellow-bellied companions can do is pay me the kindness of being honest. You want to split the property amongst yourselves, expanding all of your ranches into the vacated space. I can understand that. Hell, I'd do the same if I were in your shoes. However, you don't get to go and lie about what you've really been doing. I know full well you've been upending my sales left and right in order to pressure me into selling, because you know Mama doesn't hold the keys to the kingdom anymore and I sure as hell can't be prevailed upon to run the place." _

_Archie remained impassive, though his cheeks had taken on a slightly sallow hue. "How is Helen?" _

_"You know damn well what shape my mother is in, Arch." Georgie's voice cracked like a whip, causing the whole bar to quieten. _

_Her continued dismissal of him served to grate on the man's nerves. _

_"I'd be a bit more civil if I were you, girl. This doesn't need to be as difficult as you're making it out to be." _

_Georgiana leaned into Archie's face, noting the cold sweat which had begun beading at his hairline. "I've got nothing to lose while you all have everything to gain. I plan on making this as difficult as it needs to be to ensure you never own so much as a twig of that property." _

_Archie sat back in his seat, giving her an appraising look. _

_"You know my boy, Francis, he's been asking after you. Perhaps he could stop by and say hello-"_

_"If you think sending an ex-boyfriend for a good old fashioned shake down will garner you any good will, you're sorely mistaken." Georgiana cut him off, signalling to the bartender for another bourbon neat. She tossed a twenty on the countertop and pointed to Mr. Higgs, "And I'll take care of his tab, seeing as his budget's so tightly wound he's gotta blackball a twenty-three year-old to cover his nut." _

_A few nearby men could be heard chortling to themselves, having stopped their game of billiards to listen to the old rancher's dressing down at the hands of a young girl. _

_Her thinly veiled insult and their jeering laughter was the last straw for Archie. He straightened his jacket and slid from the bar, "You're a real piece of work, Haywood. Your Mama'd be ashamed. It's certainly not becoming of a lady." _

_"So I've heard," Georgiana drawled with an exasperated roll of her eyes, "I'll try not to crumple under the weight of the county's shattered expectations of me." _

_Archie made it halfway across the bar before she added in a carrying voice, "Oh, and Mr. Higgs? Be sure to tell the others, Mr. McAllister, old man Wilkes and the brothers Welch...I'm not selling. Not to you toerags, anyway." _

_"Well," Mr. Higgs tipped his hat and flashed Georgiana a nasty smile through the bar's mirrors, his bruised ego carefully concealed. "We'll just see about that. You have yourself a lovely night, Miss Haywood." _

_Georgiana didn't spare him a passing glance as he left the building, closing the door with a bang behind him. _

_"Don't you listen to 'em Miss Georgie." _

_Barty, the owner of the establishment and the acting bartender had watched the whole ordeal with obvious contempt. "It's damn shameful what them folks is doing. They heckled your Pa till his dying breath to get him to sell. He was like you, too proud to back down, and then your Ma, they were takin' advantage of her delicate state, trying to push her into selling for a pittance too. It's a crying shame, dishonorable trash." _

_Georgiana set her glass on the bartop with a sigh, "I know, Barty. They don't know it, but I know everything that's been going on while I was away, and for that, I thank you." _

_Barty smiled proudly, then waved to a drifter as he left the bar in a hurry. "Anything for old mister Haywood's kin. Your Pa helped me out of a couple tight spots in my youth, loaned me the capital to build my bar. I owe him a great debt." _

_"You're probably the only decent man in this town, Barty." She smiled genially at the friendly older man, glad there was at least one person in the whole of Leslie County she felt she could trust. _

_The man grinned and waved off such praise, halting in his enjoyment when a special bulletin appeared on the small, battered television in the corner of the bar. It appeared the local news was issuing an alert for a suspect in a murder investigation up in Lexington. _

_A grainy picture of a tall, slender man with short, dark curls appeared on the screen. _

_'...a native of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Moreau-Lilet is an active criminal whose syndicate is responsible for much of the bootlegging occurring between the Gulf Coast and Chicago. He is wanted for questioning regarding the recent murder of the Fayette County civil attorney..." _

_Barty turned back toward the bar with a scowl, "You be sure to lock your doors and windows tonight, Miss Georgie. Ain't no telling what fools might be running out in them woods."_

* * *

_It was late that evening, and Georgiana had been packing her belongings for a quick flight back to California when a tentative knock could be heard on the front door of the Haywood family home. _

_She peered through the peephole to see a familiar face looking back at her. _

_"What do you want?" She called irritably, not opening the door. "If your dad sent you to talk to me-" _

_"He didn't send me. I heard what he said to you at Barty's. I wanted to come over and apologize…" _

_Georgiana heaved another sigh and opened the door. _

_Francis Higgs stood on the oak threshold, his sandy blond hair tousled from the windy summer night. He was just as handsome as Georgie remembered, much to her annoyance. _

_"Your dad's a real ass," he was summarily informed before she stepped aside, wordlessly inviting him in. _

_"Actually, I thought we could go for a ride, get you out of this big house." He flashed a charming smile and held up a bottle of wine and two plastic cups, "Besides, I heard you had a real banger of a day without my old man acting the fool." _

_This actually brought a small, cautious smile to Georgiana's lips. It really had been a horrendous day._

* * *

_Fifteen minutes later, Francis's truck was parked at the top of a hill overlooking the whole of the Haywood estate. He and Georgiana were seated atop the cab, sipping strawberry wine and admiring the view while the last shocks of orange sunlight retreated over the horizon. _

_Once the sky turned dark and the first blanket of stars appeared alongside the full moon, Francis cleared his throat, "I'm really sorry about my old man, Georgie. He was way out of line today. I know you've been having one hell of a rough patch with everything going on." _

_'Yes, with everything going on, your dad and the rest of the ranchers have the audacity to expect me to sell for nothing...It's completely unreasonable." _

_Francis's freckled cheeks flushed a dull pink, "That's not what they're trying to do, I don't think, might not see it now, but they're actually trying to help you get out from under this place." _

_Georgie scoffed, "Frank, that's an outright lie." _

_"It's not," he insisted, "Georgie, everybody knows you're in over your head with the estate, I'm sure they don't want to see you drown beneath its weight." _

_She didn't believe any of the ranchers held such sentiments, especially not after her conversation with Mr. Higgs that afternoon. It was a lie. _

_Wasn't it? _

_His certainty made Georgiana question her understanding of the issue. Perhaps she was in the wrong? Perhaps Francis knew more than he was letting on. Archie was his father, after all._

_"I'm twenty-three," she said in a barely manageable whisper, "I'm twenty-three years old, Francis. My daddy is dead, and today I dropped my mama off at an assisted-living facility, which apparently is tantamount to me putting her in the grave myself. The rest of my life is in California. My job, my friends, student loans, my apartment...am I supposed to just leave it all behind? All of this not to mention the hundreds of thousands of dollars it would take to keep this ranch alive through the end of the year if it doesn't sell. It all sits on my shoulders, and I knew that, I knew being an only child meant I would be the one to handle all of this, I just never in my life thought it would be so soon. I think I've earned the right to be a little stressed out." _

_"You need to let people help you," Francis advised sagely, "I can help, if you'd let me." _

_The smile he offered was warm and reassuring, the only really good thing which had happened to Georgie all day._

* * *

_Francis dropped Georgiana back at her front porch an hour later, tipping his hat and smiling at her once more. "Give me a call when you get back from California, we can meet up for dinner or something." _

_"Yeah, alright," Georgie agreed breathily, turning the handle on the front door and stepping inside. _

_She giggled softly to herself at the pleasant turn the evening had taken. _

_Seeing Francis again was like coming home. He was comforting familiarity after all this stress.  
_

_The two_ _ had split up when they went away to separate colleges, but it seemed that old flame was still there, despite old Mr. Higgs' sour attitude. _

_Mama would be hissing mad if she knew Georgie had even given Frank the time of day. There was something about him that had never really grown on her. Perhaps it was how he so obviously pined for his parents' approval, or how he felt the need to brag himself up unnecessarily. It might have been the way he spoke to Helen's daughter which set her teeth on edge, there was no telling what it might have been._

_In the end, it was no secret that Helen Haywood was no fan of Francis Higgs, which in Georgiana's youth had made him all the more appealing._

_The possibilities of rekindling that old relationship clouded Georgie's mind, causing her to miss the tall shadow looming behind the door. _

_"Bon jou, chèrie." _

_The voice was smooth as silk, it's lilting Creole accent giving the words a roguish edge. _

_The very criminal from the news broadcast stepped into her path, pointing a gun at her. _

_Georgiana staggered backward, pressing herself against the banister leading upstairs. _

_"Easy there. Not one word, chèrie. I mean you no harm." _

_He was taller than the grainy photo had suggested. Much, much taller, and stockier. The man's frame was nowhere near as lanky up close. His shoulders were broad and his arms were long but they were powerfully built. The hand which held the gun pointed in her face was at least twice the size of her own. _

_"Wh-who are you? What do you want?" Georgiana cursed her own stammering, idly wondering if Francis would hear her should she scream. She took a reverse step into the next room, thinking the windows might assist in her endeavor. _

_The intruder seemed to read her mind, "I wouldn't make any rash decisions if I were you." _

_"What do you want from me?" Georgie repeated, backing away from his advancing form only to find herself bumping into one of the parlor sofas. _

_"Have a seat," the man gestured, "and I'll answer your questions." _

_Georgiana eyed him suspiciously, mentally calculated her options then proceeded to take a seat on the cushion furthest from him. _

_The man let out a small chuckle, then took the seat in the very middle of the sofa. He crossed his legs, which were clad in a pair of dark maroon slacks, and straightened the orange button down he wore, its first few buttons opened to reveal a 'v' of dark skin dusted with black curlicues. _

_He looked like he had fallen straight out of 1975 and landed in her living room. _

_The man grinned, watching curiously as she scrutinized him from the black beret on his head to the heels of his leather boots, trying like the devil to discern what he was there for. _

_"Relax," he reiterated, "I'm not here to hurt you." _

_"You killed that man up in Fayetteville County. I saw you on the news. They called you-" _

_"Lilet," he nodded, holding out a carefree hand, "Richard Moreau-Lilet, bootlegger, rum runner, criminal mastermind-" _

_"Murderer," Georgiana added with a glower, refusing to let him off easy. _

_He blinked back at her, the deep obsidian of his eyes glinting with something deadly. "Yes, I am." _

_"You admit it?" she gawked, "Just like that? What kind of monster are you?" _

_A deep, lusty laugh roared from Richard's throat, showcasing a set of sinister-looking white teeth. "I'm the thing that goes bump in the night for the kinds of criminals your local newscasters have never even heard of." _

_Georgie scowled at his obvious enjoyment of this conversation. "What do you mean?" _

_"That attorney I killed in Lexington, he helped run a low-level human trafficking operation spanning from Cleveland to Baton Rouge. He and his associates are responsible for the disappearances of more than one hundred women and children in the past two years. They took a friend of mine's five year-old girl two months ago." Richard allowed the atrocities to sink in for a minute, his countenance turning dark. "I was too late to save her, but I made sure he never laid a hand on anyone again, so if you're wondering if I feel an ounce of regret for what I did, I most certainly do not. You still want to call the cops, chèrie?" _

_Georgiana found herself shaking her head of her own accord. _

_His face relaxed into a pleasant smile, "Bon, très bon. Now, my dear, are you ready to hear my proposition?" _

_Eyes still wide and mouth still clamped shut, she nodded, her instincts somehow overriding all common sense. _

_"I couldn't help but overhear you at the bar down the road, before I was forced to leave due to my face being plastered on their television screen," _

_Georgie vaguely recalled a man whose face she could not see leaving the bar as she was talking to Barty. _

_"It seems you're in a bit of a tight spot financially. I can help with that." _

_The two eyed each other for a long moment Georgiana spoke. _

_"How could you help? And more importantly, what are you looking for in return?" _

_Richard's smile widened, "I need to lay low while this blows over." _

_A scoff leapt from the woman beside him, "That's aiding and abetting." _

_The fugitive rolled his eyes, "Thank goodness for Nancy Drew novels. If not for her, you southern debutantes might not have the foggiest idea what aiding and abetting even meant." _

_"I'm about this close to letting you sleep in the crick out back." Georgiana snapped, holding up a tiny gap between her finger and thumb. "There's no need to be rude Mister Lilet. I'm merely pointing out a rather hefty risk I'd be taking by giving you a place to rest your head." _

_The retort seemed to delight Lilet, who chuckled before returning his gun to his jacket pocket and pulling out a stack of new 100 dollar bills. He held the cash at eye level, "You tell me when, and we've got a deal." _

_Georgiana's mouth fell open when he pulled out another stack and placed it alongside the first. _

_Then another. _

_And another. _

_And another. _

_She let him continue a while, curious to see just how much cash the man was carrying. _

_Two stacks later and RIchard gave her an amused though chastising glance, "Now you're just being greedy." _

_"You never said how long you were going to be here," she contended, pleased she seemed to have thought of something he hadn't, "I can't very well name a price on an indeterminate amount of time…Though, if you've got associates who pay this well, feel free to have them visit too." _

_Richard let out a genuine laugh and set the stacks onto the coffee table, "Very well then, $70k for two weeks safe harbor, cash up front, and a recommendation of your services to my fellow ne'er-do-wells. You can even tell the police we held you at gunpoint if they find you out." _

_Richard held out his hand, which she stared at for several seconds before finally taking it and giving it a hasty shake. _

_"What can I call you?" He asked, continuing to watch her with a peculiar sort of amusement. _

_Georgiana hesitated. She certainly didn't want him sharing or using her real name. He seemed to know this, waiting patiently for her to decide on what moniker she would use in this new gray area of her life. _

_She thought for several long moments before settling on the only name that ever felt right. _

_"Rosalie. You can call me Rosalie."_

* * *

_Present - Unknown Location, Palmira, Colombia - February 13th, 2000_

Rosalie groaned as she was jostled this way and that.

Her head positively ached, and something warm and tacky was trickling down her cheek.

She couldn't see anything.

_Why couldn't she see anything? _

The space was stiflingly hot, making it difficult to breath.

The nauseating smell of petrol filled Rosalie's nostrils, her stomach heaving its discontent. She fought back the reflex, focusing on breathing through her mouth instead.

A pair of sharp male voices could be heard in the space behind her, difficult to distinguish over the sound of a radio crackling cumbia music. The surface beneath her vibrated steadily, then Rosalie was jostled again, alerting her that she must be in a vehicle trundling a rather bumpy road.

Yes, she could hear the engine now.

A few loose items rolled around the space Rosalie could only assume was the car's trunk, indicating the road they were driving was at an incline. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious for, and the mountain range beside Palmira stretched for hundreds of miles, there was no telling where she might be. The car's elevation increased further, sending Rosalie rolling to the front of the trunk with the compartment's contents.

Her arms were cinched behind her back, keeping her from holding herself stationary. The tendons in her shoulders screamed their protest at the unnatural angle every time the car's movements sent her body tumbling.

This continued in the same vein for what felt like hours.

Rosalie was certain she was on the verge of passing out when the vehicle finally slowed to a stop and the engine cut off, leaving the trunk still and quiet. Her breath stopped as she listened for any kind of movement outside. The click of a key being slid into the trunk's lock sent her pulse racing. Silence stretched for the space of a few seconds before the compartment was opened and a blinding light stole her sight.

She tried to turn away from the source but rough, calloused hands reached in and dragged her from the trunk without care. The muscles in her back and shoulders spasmed from the rough treatment, causing a groan to fall from her lips.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness of her surroundings, vaguely registering the glow of a handful of campfires and red gravel moving beneath her before she was hoisted higher, sending another lightning bolt of pain through her upper arms.

The men dragging her were bickering back and forth, tossing the occasional derogatory taunt her way.

Rosalie pointedly kept her silence. There was no point in opening hostilities just yet. She needed to buy herself time...time to find an exit, time for Raymond to realize she was gone.

The men slowed as they reached what Rosalie could only assume was a campground.

She lifted her head to peer at the battered wooden fence which created a corral against the mountainside. One of the men unlocked the gate, revealing a clustered group of women and children cowering against the mountain's rocky face.

Rosalie was unceremoniously thrust into the gaggle of women, falling hard, headlong into the dirt.

The men's derisive laughter jeered from the edge of the corral before they shut the gate once more, the sound of crunching gravel beneath heavy boots signaling their departure.

Several hands were on Rosalie at once, lifting her from the dirt and easing her to her feet. She whimpered at the searing pain in her shoulders and the taste of blood which was no doubt pouring from her nose. There was a scrape somewhere along her hairline and her front was covered in dirt. The grit and grime stung unpleasantly.

Several voices soothed, gently shushing while they turned her this way and that.

Rosalie barely noticed the feeling of small hands gripping hers and a sharp rock being wedged between her wrist and the ties which bound them before her arms were suddenly free.

A sharp hiss of pain followed the limbs' release and a dull ache throbbed inside the muscles and tendons as they settled back into their proper place.

A warm, wet cloth carefully wiped the blood and dirt from her face.

"Thank you," she rasped, blinking away the haze which threatened to overcome her vision.

"Shhh..." came the gentle reply, a kind, weathered hand reaching to brush across her forehead.

"Thank you..."

Rosalie's world went black.

* * *

_Six Hours Later...Palmira, Colombia - February 14th, 2000_

Raymond, Ted and Dembe finally gave up on tearing apart the area surrounding the bar in search of Rosalie.

It had been six hours since she went missing, and there wasn't a single sign to point them in the right direction.

Kate Kaplan was directing Red's remaining associates as they swarmed the small village of Palmira with unrelenting force. They were scouring every corner for clues which could lead them to the Rosalie's whereabouts while their employer and his compatriots circled back to the safehouse.

Raymond was pacing the lounge like a caged animal. The air around him thrummed and crackled with a fury so palpable it felt as though the room were pressurized, the very molecules they breathed pressing the space's occupants deeper and deeper into the floor.

Ted was seated in a nearby armchair with his head in his hands.

He blamed himself for Rosalie's disappearance. There were distractions in the bar which caught his eye, and rather than insist he fulfill his duties, Rosalie had urged Teddy to blow off some steam and talk to the pretty girl at the bar who had been eyeing him all night.

Ted barely noticed when she left for the ladies room. He was far too enamored with his pursuits, he didn't notice when she had been gone for ten minutes, eleven, twelve...

He noticed when Reddington came tearing across the room.

It had all come crashing down around him then.

The sight of the empty room sent his stomach into the soles of his feet.

Dembe remained ever watchful, observing the proceedings with a somber expression.

The two men before him could not have exhibited a greater disparity. One was loping the room, rage incarnate, while the other was so riddled with guilt he could hardly raise his head.

They would find Rosalie, Dembe's faith was unshakeable in that regard. His friend was clever and resourceful; regardless of who took her, Rosalie would find a way to keep herself safe long enough for them to locate her.

The long-term question was how much damage this incident would create within their cohort. Though the two men showed it very differently, Dembe could plainly see the self-blame riddled in Raymond and Teddy's features. Each felt responsible for the lapse in Rosalie's security.

They all felt as thought they should have been more alert. It was common knowledge, after the altercation with Fisi in Kenya and Mesrine at the Armel's estate over Christmas, that there was a target on Rosalie. The German wanted her for reasons as of yet unknown.

They knew he was after her.

They should have done more.

Kate Kaplan blew in through the main door, a scowl on her face and her handbag in hand. "I've got three dozen associates searching the surrounding cities. I've sent another half dozen to reach out to our contacts in the local cartels. We will have a more comprehensive view of where Rosalie could be come morning. Did you find anything near the bar?"

"No" came Ted's dull response, "There wasn't anything to go off of, no eyes in or out, no witnesses, no evidence."

Red's pacing had yet to cease, and this reminder of their shortcomings where his lover's security was concerned had him sending a crystal vase soaring across the room to shatter into a thousand pieces against the stone fireplace.

The room's three remaining occupants maintained a somber silence, watching as he retreated to the solitude of the master bedroom.

"Allow me," Kate insisted, gesturing for Dembe and Ted to remain in the immediate vicinity.

She followed Red's hunched frame the length of the hallway, breezing unblinkingly past each door he slammed between the lounge and his destination. When she reached the suite, she found him standing framed in one of the soaring archways leading to the veranda.

His hands clutched the stone arc like a lifeline, looking for all the world like a man who'd been robbed of every good thing in his life.

In a way, Kate supposed that was true.

She had known Raymond Reddington before he was Raymond Reddington. The man had lead the charge in all that happened with Katarina and Masha, trudging forward long after he was branded a traitor, lost his home, and was disowned by what little family he'd had left. He pressed onward each and every day with little regard for himself.

Now, when it seemed he had finally found something good to call his own, she was being taken from him.

The thought tore at Kate.

Though she and Rosalie had endured a tumultuous beginning to their acquaintance, their head-to-head during Raymond and Dembe's malaria scare had allowed them a much-needed restart. Over the following months, their camaraderie slowly flourished into a genuine bond. Kate was growing to consider Rosalie a cherished friend.

"Raymond."

He didn't answer.

Kate stepped forward, placing a comforting hand to Red's shoulder. The muscles beneath his shirt contracted, tensing at the contact.

"I can't lose her too, Kate."

The whispered statement bore the weight of a lifetime's worth of despair, leaving Raymond's darkest fear exposed in the space between them.

For once, he'd begun to feel like everyone else.

For once, he'd had someone to call his own.

And now, someone had succeeded in taking her from him.

Their world was a cold, cruel place, and his was growing colder with every hour Rosalie remained missing.

Kate could hear the woman's voice clear as day, repeating her wish from months prior.

_'If something were to happen to me and Raymond were left without...I would hope someone would step up and make him feel cared for.'_

She gave Red's shoulder a consoling squeeze, lowering her voice to a more soothing timbre. "Take a moment. Breathe. Read a book. We _will_ find her, Raymond."

Raymond complied mechanically, taking a deep, steadying breath in through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. One hand left the stone arch to grasp Kate's, giving it a grateful pat before he turned to face the room once more. Another calming breath forced its way into his lungs, then he began to lay out a plan for the next forty-eight hours.

"Call in every associate we can get in Colombia, call in favors to Ecuador and Venezuela as well. Reach out to our compatriots and competition in the underground transportation game, give them Rosalie's description and let slip they can name their price if they provide actionable intel on her whereabouts or whispers relating to an abduction of an American woman in the area. Dole out bribes to every airstrip in 500 miles, I want the manifests of every bird landing or taking off within this country's boarders."

Kate noted his demands as Ted and Dembe stepped into the room with a tentative knock.

Red waved them in, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index while sifting through what little information they had. "Whoever took Rosalie knows our syndicates are intertwined and will expect me to go looking for her. As such, they'll likely try to lay low for a few days. We need to find out where she's being held before they try to move again."

"Ray, there's something we need to discuss," Ted took a cautious step forward, "It's about Rosalie's syndicate."

Raymond considered him with a cold, stoic stare, his hands silently gesturing that he should continue.

Ted exhaled a weary breath, "Rosalie has protocols in place, the first of which is less than four hours out. Regardless of my involvement, regardless of your syndicate's involvement, these protocols will enact themselves. I can't contain it once it's out. You should be aware of what's coming our way."

"What's the first protocol?" Red asked, resting his back against the nearest wall.

Kate and Dembe settled in as well, each taking the nearest available seat. Ted was the only one who remained standing in the center of the room. "Ten hours after Rosalie has disappeared from radar, her extraction team will be dispatched to her last known location, which will be this safehouse. I called it in moments after we discovered she was missing. They're already en route."

Raymond blanched, "Who is on her extraction team? Florian? Cedric?" The last thing he needed was the hot-headed leader of the Corsicans bringing in a battalion of Frenchman to tear apart every Colombian town between Palmira and Bogota. This extraction required finesse and a precision approach so as not to spook the abductors.

Ted shook his head, "Florian isn't brought in until she's been completely offline for two weeks. She mentioned it once a while back...joked that she finally had to bump him down the line because every time she ventured a little too deep into the Amazon and lost satellite service, the whole of Corsica would come looking for her. We have time before we have to deal with Monsieur Armel or Cedric."

"So who is her extraction team?" Red pressed with a scowl, his ire rising when Ted shrugged.

"I don't know, Ray. This is a part of the empire Rosalie built before she had any security, and she's kept its mechanisms very quiet."

Raymond stepped toe-to-toe with Ted, his features darkening by the second. "You're telling me we have no idea who's going to be beating down our door?"

Ted nodded, "All I know is she trusts this person implicitly and without question, so I think we should, too."

* * *

_Flashback - Leslie County, Kentucky - July 1993_

_"I'm still amazed at how you managed to keep this place afloat these past three months."_

_Francis leaned against one of the Haywood home's porch pillars, looking down at Georgiana with obviously piqued curiosity. They had been dating since that fateful week back in March, and it seemed things were going very, very well._

_She smiled coyly back at him, "A bit of luck, a good friend, and a lot of hard work does wonders."_

_Her answer was always the same._

_After Rosalie took Richard up on his offer, criminals came rolling in the back door by the half dozen. It turned out the Haywood family home was a perfect halfway point between Chicago, Cleveland, Indianapolis, and various destinations in the southern United States. She had been making money hand over fist, amassing more than enough to cover not only the cost of maintaining the home, but of completing all of the necessary repairs as well._

_Rosalie had grown rather fond of Richard. For a crime boss, she found him surprisingly gentlemanly and well-read. He had a strict code of ethics he lived by, and took great care to only send her runaways and fugitives whom he believed would abide by her rules and maintain a respectful distance. By the time his two weeks in hiding with her were over, she all but begged him to stay._

_He'd been hesitant at first, insisting she could easily run the safehouse herself and he would pass through a few times a month at least. The house marked the perfect halfway point between his businesses in Cleveland and Baton Rouge._

_It took only one crazed client attempting to breaking down Rosalie's bedroom door in the dead of night for him to reconsider._

_In truth, Richard had grown to like Rosalie. She was clever and intuitive, especially for a cosseted southern belle. The more time he spent around her the closer friends they became, and the more Richard realized he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something happened to Rosalie. She needed guidance until she felt comfortable standing up to her clientele. _

_A few days after Richard decided to stay a while longer, his wife Calixte came to join them._

_Rosalie was nervous at first, having heard a great deal about the love of Richard's life. In the early days of their acquaintance, she found it reassuring that the felon she had welcomed into her home was in a committed romantic relationship. It only took a week for Rosalie and Calixte to become fast friends._

_"Earth to Georgie, come in, Georgie?"_

_Her mind had wandered. Francis's voice flitted into her consciousness, alerting her that he had noticed her distraction._

_"You're such a space cadet," he teased, obviously pleased her attention was back on him._

_"Don't call me that." She snapped back, "It's condescending and rude."_

_Francis rolled his eyes, "Oh, don't be so sensitive. I was only teasing you."_

_Georgiana crossed her arms, taking a step away from him."Well, I don't appreciate it."_

_"Why do you always do this?" He sighed, giving her the look of a wounded puppy. "I try to have fun with you, I try to be nice and funny, and you get madder'n a hornet. It's not like you."_

_"I'm allowed to get annoyed when you say things which make me feel poorly about myself, Francis."_

_Frank shrugged and pushed off of the pillar,"Maybe your lack of self confidence has nothing to do with what I say and everything to do with how you feel about yourself. That's on you, baby cakes. Don't go making me feel like the heel for trying to have a little fun."_

_"I'm sorry," Georgiana replied mechanically, preferring to feign an apology rather than continuing the argument. "I just...there's a lot going on, and I-"_

_"You're not yourself, I get it," Frank bent and chastely kissed her lips, "I'm sure you'll be back to your happy, cheerful self in no time."_

_Georgie fought back a groan and an eye roll, choosing to bite her tongue and smile._

_"See!" he grinned, "Better already. How are things going with that new estate manager of yours, what's his name...Roy?"_

_"Richard," Georgiana corrected, defaulting to the Anglo-Saxon pronunciation of the name rather than the French 'Ree-shard'. It provided a small modicum of separation between 'Shard and the occasional news bulletin which popped up on the tv. It also helped that he had grown his hair and beard out a fair amount, helping to obscure his features from the locals. "He's excellent, I wouldn't be able to run the place without him."_

_"Well," Francis laughed, "Hopefully you won't need his help too much longer."_

_Her brows furrowed in confusion, "What do you mean?"_

_"The ranchers are preparing to submit another offer for the property."_

_"Everything they are offering is far below market value." She complained, she had turned them down thrice before and she wasn't about to change her tune now. _

_Francis chuckled, "Well, what do you expect, Georgie? You're in the middle of a fire sale and everyone knows it. You do know what a fire sale is, don't you?" _

_Georgiana narrowed her eyes at him, "Of course I-" _

_"A fire sale is when a person or corporation sells off goods or assets at a steep discount because they must, typically because they are facing bankruptcy, which you are, in fact, facing." _

_This set the air between them crackling. _

_"I know what a fire sale is, and I am not on the cusp of bankruptcy, Francis. I don't know where you heard that, but it's not true, not yet anyway." _

_Francis held his hands up, "Listen, I'm not trying to upset you or change your mind. I don't appreciate being made to feel like the bad guy." _

_"I'm sorry," Georgiana immediately apologized, "That's not what I was insinuating, I just don't believe your father and the rest have the best intentions, that's all." _

_She watched him shrug his shoulders, refusing to argue with her further. The silence stretched for several long minutes, serving to make Georgie feel as though she was somehow in the wrong. _

_He finally turned, reaching to tuck a curl behind her ear, "I just thought maybe, down the road, you and I might want a place ourselves, just the two of us."_

_Georgie felt her cheeks burn with a pleasant flush. She couldn't deny there was a certain appeal to the idea, but it would most certainly be the end of her illegal extracurriculars. Would she even want to pursue that route? It was doubtful, but certainly worth a try if it meant she and Francis might have a real future together._

_"I've gotta head inside," she diverted, raising up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. "I'll see you tomorrow?"_

_Frank tipped his hat and gave a small smile, "Of course."_

_Georgiana watched as he meandered back to his truck, giving a shy wave before stepping into the house._

_She made for the second floor, where she thought she might find Richard. He had graciously offered to help her replace the bathroom fixtures in the master suite, and as the woman rounded the corner, she could hear the steady clink of metal on metal denoting his whereabouts._

_He must have heard her coming down the hall, because his voice echoed from the bathroom seconds before Rosalie crossed the threshold._

_"How'd your date with pinstripes go, chèrie?"_

_Rosalie rolled her eyes in response, 'pinstripes' was Richard's not-so-affectionate nickname for Francis. The young man had arrived for their first date in a pair of pinstripe slacks, and Richard had never let her forget it._

_"Your last client brought a lady of the night into my home." She retorted, ignoring his jab at her boyfriend and taking a seat on the vanity._

_He momentarily halted is pursuits, "He brought a **what** into your home?" _

_A haughty scowl marred her features, "A hooker, 'Shard, that criminal you sent me from Chicago last week? He had a legitimate, no panties, $500/hour hooker in my house."_

_Richard burst out laughing, managing to carefully remove the shower head from its mount despite his amusement, "I see, so she was expensive **and** rude?"_

_"No," Rosalie sighed, "She was actually really, terribly sweet and polite. She makes great coffee and I...I may have hired her as a property manager."_

_He poked his head back out of the shower with an impish grin. "Wait...What?"_

_"Sara is delightful," Rosalie insisted, instantly vouching for her new employee, "She's got a great eye and wants to go to school for a business degree in hospitality. She mentioned she's been looking for a way out of her current lifestyle, so I hired her to help me run this place. However, in the future, please tell anyone you send my way, I'm not running a brothel."_

_"So..." he was shaking with mirth now, "No ladies of the night?"_

_"Correct."_

_Richard scowled at the shower head once he managed to remove it, hearing a distinct rattling noise within. "I bet this is what has been causing the lack of water pressure..." he murmured, proceeding to remove the screws which held it together._

_Rosalie hopped up from the vanity, to go in search of Calixte. Finding her relaxing on the sofa in the lounge, she jumped and landed on cushion beside her with a thump and an elated sigh, "I've found the name, " she grinned, excitedly poking the couch's other occupant repeatedly in the ribs._

_"I can't believe your real name is Georgie," Calixte teased, letting out a deep sultry laugh before snapping the newspaper open once more._

_"You were listening?" Rosalie snapped, swatting her thigh with more strength than she had expected. "Sneak."_

_Calixte looked up from her paper, a sharp eyebrow lifting toward the heavens. "It's pronounced **astute**, doll. I also caught wind of young Mr. Higgs' intentions to abscond with you and sell off your property. Do you plan on telling him your home is now serving a dual purpose?"_

_"No," Rosalie let out a long exhale, settling further into the sofa's cushions. "I don't know what to tell him. It could be nice to settle down, with the house and the picket fence but...I don't know, Calixte, I just never saw that for myself. I can't say I truly want the life he's offering."_

_Calixte patted Rosalie's blonde locks soothingly, "Why don't you let us set you up? Richard and I have far more interesting prospects, individuals who could, you know...keep up with your criminal intellect."_

_Rosalie laughed merrily once more, "Thanks for the offer, but I'm content to see where things go with Frank." She stood to go change, but Calixte's voice stopped her in the archway leading to the staircase._

_"What's the name?" She asked, curious about the bit of intel which had brought Rosalie downstairs in the first place._

_Her smile was bright with excitement, "I've decided to call her Break Maiden." Her eyes lifted to gaze fondly at the wooden archway and its sturdy beams, patting the entry affectionately before giving Calixte a wink and heading off to her room._

_Calixte smiled for Rosalie's excitement, but her expression fell once the younger woman was out of eyesight._

_Richard passed her on the stairs, loping gracefully into the lounge where his wife sat. He leaned in and kissed Calixte's temple, noting the discontent furrowing her brow. "Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas, ma chère?"_

_She pulled him onto the sofa with her, kissing his lips then relaxing into his soothing embrace._

_"I love Rosalie. You know that, don't you?"_

_Her husband chuckled, "I do, ma chère. I don't think she would be open to such advances from us, however. She seems adventurous, but I would bet a small fortune she's a one man kind of woman."_

_A firm hand swatted his chest when he laughed even harder. "That's not what I meant, 'Shard."_

_"No, but it's something you've been considering." Richard retorted, wholeheartedly delighted by his wife's sudden and mysterious descent into maiden modesty._

_Unfortunately, Calixte's uncharacteristic tension caused his amusement to falter. "Really now, I thought it was all very sweet. Tell me, what has you so terribly morose, my prize?"_

_Calixte lifted a watery gaze to meet her husband's concerned features, "I can't explain why, but I would bet my soul that boy is using Rosalie. Something's not right with him, 'Shard. I feel like I should say something to her. She's our friend. I don't want her to get hurt."_

_"I quite agree, my dear. As a matter of fact-" He reached a glove-clad hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the contraptions he had pulled from the master shower and its taps. "You and I are going to keep an eye on that boy and his family, because I refuse to believe this was Rosalie's doing."_

_"What in the-" Calixte gasped, seeing the bright silver liquid sloshing around in slender tubes made of metal and glass. "Are those mercury canisters?"_

_Richard's jaw clenched, "I think so, I just found them while replacing the fixtures in the master bath. I haven't told Rosalie yet, I want to be sure of what we have."_

_The Lilets shared a look, then moved for the first floor guest room, knocking stealthily on the door's face and waiting for the room's occupant to answer._

_The door opened a couple inches. The room was dark, except for the green lettering of a computer screen casting its verdant hue along the pale walls. A short bald man with black coke-bottle glasses peered suspiciously up at them._

_"What do you want?" He grumbled in a flat, unfriendly voice, wiping his hands on the dark blue apron adorning his chest._

_The man was known only as The Metalist. He specialized in the use of illegal and classified metalloid and non-metalloid substances for a variety of nefarious purposes, and contracted Richard to find him safe harbor whilst on the run from some chaos he orchestrated up in Detroit. He'd been at the Haywood home for two weeks, laying low while a tidal wave of law enforcement attempted to hunt him down._

_Richard held up the shower head in a gloved hand, "We could use someone of your particular expertise."_

_The Metalist's hand surged forward and snatched the trinket, his glassy eyes delighted by this new find. He attempted to slam the door closed, put Richard had wedged himself inside, knocking the entry open with his shoulder and striding forward to back the Metalist into a nearby chair._

_"That thing isn't leaving our sight." He yanked the chain on the nearby lamp, sending the room into stark relief. "We need to know what it is and how it got here."_

_The Metalist cackled eerily, "This was not my doing, young man, I don't make it a habit to bite the hand that harbors me. Besides," another heinous titter escaped his lips, "This contraption looks like it's been here for years. The metal fastenings are already rusted, and nearly all the mercury is gone."_

_"So it is mercury," Calixte whispered, "Why would someone install mercury cylinders in a residential shower head?" _

_"My dear," the Metalist purred, holding the dismantled fixture to the light once more, "I believe you've found yourself a murder weapon."_

* * *

_Present Day - Unknown Location - February 14th, 2000_

A small hand grasped Rosalie's shoulder, shaking her roughly into consciousness.

A chorus of voices hissed and clamored in feverish Spanish, bringing her hurtling back to her present situation.

"Dama...Dama!"

Rosalie was immediately and abundantly awake.

Women and children were scurrying frantically around her, a palpable panic lingering in the air.

A young girl with tousled black hair and a dirty pink t-shirt had been the one to wake her. Her dark eyes were wide with fear as she tried to push Rosalie to her feet.

A middle-aged woman in a tattered sundress joined her, stooping to hoist Rosalie up by her arms.

The action sent another small flare of pain through the limbs, encouraging her to stand as quickly as possible.

Once her feet were solidly under her, she was guided to the rear of the corral with the rest of the occupants.

Women and young girls of various ages huddled together against the mountainside, the older women creating a protective barrier around the youngest, sheltering them as far as possible from the entrance.

"What's going on?" Rosalie asked, stumbling forward. The little girl grasped her hand tightly and pulled her into the huddle, the middle-aged woman filling in the space behind her.

She tried again, rotating so she could see the woman's face, "¿Que esta pasando?"

"El cartel," the woman hissed, pushing her a little deeper into the group, "_Los Reyes Sagrados_."

The name was very familiar to Rosalie. In her time spent building out her empire in South America, she had heard of the cartel who called themselves The Sacred Kings. They were an uncivilized, brutal bunch responsible for the destruction of hundreds of villages in Colombia and Venezuela. Their primary export was cocaine, but the cartel as a whole dealt in all manner of illicit activity from murder to arson, kidnapping to racketeering.

For the life of her, Rosalie could not piece together what the cartel could possibly want with her. The only plausible explanation she could come up with was that Los Reyes Sagrados had been contracted by a third party to take her. If it were true, there was only one person Rosalie knew was out for her.

The German.

There was no other reasonable explanation for them to choose her, out of all the women in the bar that night.

"Why are we all in the corner?"

"Rojelio." She pointed at a tall man beyond the fence with a medium build and a dark mustache, "He is kind. He warns us ahead of time, so we can try to hide the young girls."

"Does it work?" Rosalie asked, her attention turning toward the gate.

The other woman's eyes followed, a sharp gasp leaving her lips as she saw the three men making their way toward them. Her pupils were only pin-pricks when she turned to face Rosalie once more.

"Not yet."

The three cartel members sidled up to the entrance, unlocking the padlock holding the wooden gate closed before stepping inside, a glint of malice lingering in their eyes.

* * *

_Palmira, Colombia - February 14th, 2000_

"You're a smuggler, Emiliano, one of the best in Colombia," Red stood over the shuddering form of Emiliano Caicedo, a well-known smuggler of both people and contraband throughout Colombia. The men had worked together in the past, and Raymond knew if anyone was trying to take Rosalie, Emiliano's operation was where they would have to start.

"One of my people was taken from me in your territory. I refuse to believe you don't have the slightest inkling of what's going on here."

Kate had directed the band of associates who tore Emiliano from his hideaway thirty minutes ago, depositing him in a wooden chair in the center of the cement basement.

Red proceeded to beat the necessary information out of him, his anger and guilt serving to fuel the barrage of hits he landed on the man he knew held the key to Rosalie's recovery.

They were moments away from her extraction team knocking down their door and he had no more answers than when they started. It had been nearly ten hours since she was taken and still he was empty handed.

Raymond refused to accept defeat, he would demolish every corner of the Colombian underground if that's what it took.

"There will be nothing left of you to bury if something happens to her." He threatened venomously, growling the statement so close to Emiliano's face, the man could feel the warmth of his own breath on his face.

"Raymond."

Dembe's smooth timbre gut the gruff sounds of the room, breaking the menacing haze which had overwhelmed the room.

"Kate needs to speak with you."

Red leveled their captive a deadly glare, "I'll be back shortly."

Emiliano merely coughed feebly in response, a small spatter of blood landing on the ground in front of him.

"Raymond needs answers, Emiliano." Dembe's voice was soft and deceivingly gentle as he held out a cold bottle of water for the bruised and beaten man before him. He and Raymond were playing old-fashioned good-cop, bad-cop. This served to get them the answers they wanted while also allowing the latter a much-needed vent for the anger which roiled furiously in his gut, threatening to cloud his judgement.

Emiliano took the bottle gingerly, not trusting himself to keep down much more than a few small sips.

"He'll kill me if he finds out."

The hoarse whisper was barely audible, even in the quiet of the safehouse basement where their captive was being held.

Dembe shook his head solemnly, "He will kill you slowly if you know the truth and say nothing."

This statement seemed to hit home. Dark, petrified eyes flitted up to Dembe's seeming to ask if he was being serious.

Dembe didn't blink. "Out of all the women who walk this earth, your client had to choose her. I don't think you could have found a more dangerous target if you tried. Raymond will burn your entire country down to its foundations before he allows her to be transported into enemy hands, and her own syndicate is coming to start the blaze. Tell me where she is, Emiliano, and we can avoid a great deal of bloodshed."

"I don't know where they've taken her. I swear."

A trickle of blood ran from Emiliano's hairline, following the lines of his face per gravity's dictates.

"Perhaps not," Dembe conceded, swiping the droplet away from the man's eyes with his thumb, "But you do know who took her, and who contracted them to do so."

Emiliano took several steady, calming breaths, refusing to look at the man across from him.

Dembe stood, bending so he was inches from his face. "This is a time sensitive matter, Emiliano. Rosalie Øllegaard is family to us, and Raymond is rapidly regaining his strength. I doubt you'll survive a second round."

At that moment, Red came barreling back through the door. He'd caught his breath and the anger which threatened to consume him was a roaring inferno once more. He was followed by Kate Kaplan, who quickly signaled that Dembe should step outside.

A pale hue swallowed Emiliano's features, turning his skin sallow in the low light of the basement.

"No, no, no!" He bellowed, scrambling into the far corner of the room, "A drug cartel, it was a drug cartel!"

This did nothing to halt Raymond's momentum. He cornered Emiliano against the wall and lifted him bodily into the air, "That's not good enough, Emiliano."

"Please!"

Red slammed him against the wall, "This is western Colombia," he snarled, "I can't swing a dead goddamn cat without hitting at least six cartels!"

Emiliano dropped, cowering into the floor and covering his head. He flinched and curled into the fetal position when Raymond's deep voice roared once more.

"Which. One."

"Los Reyes Sagrados!" Emiliano yelled, trying like hell to sink into the concrete floor, anything to get away from the man standing over him. "The men who are looking for her, they contracted Los Reyes Sagrados to take her."

Raymond quietened, his breathing still heavy and uneven. He flipped the abandoned wooden chair around so he could sit, his insides rapidly filling with what felt like ice water at the knowledge Rosalie had been taken by one of the most ruthless cartels in all of South America.

Kate stepped in to keep them on topic, "What do we know about Los Reyes Sagrados, Raymond?"

A shaky breath left Red's lungs and hid head fell into his upturned palms. "They're no better than the Taddiken brothers." His voice rumbled wearily from between his hands, "Cruel. Careless. They'll do just about anything for a payday, but they specialize in cocaine and human trafficking. Their contraband arrives alive and on time, but often..." his breath hitched at the very thought, "_spoiled_."

He allowed the implication to hang in the air, then turned his unfathomable fury back toward Emiliano. "Every moment she spends in the cartel's possession is another moment she could be beaten, tortured, or worse. You're going to tell me who hired them, and you're going to tell me now."

"Two men," Emiliano offered readily, terror evident on his face, "One was white, European, brown hair and a clipped mustache. The other man was Mediterranean, or perhaps Middle Eastern, I'm not sure-"

The explanation was cut off by a bullet tearing through the man's skull.

Red lowered his weapon, which he had drawn and fired the moment Emiliano gave him what he needed to hear.

"Raymond?" Kate questioned, following as he turned on his heel, making for the house's main level.

"He knew."

Kate hurried to keep up with him, taking the stairs two at a time so as not to be left behind.

"Who knew?"

Red threw the basement door open with much more force than strictly necessary, nearly taking the thing off its hinges. "The German and his associate. They knew exactly when and where...The son of a bitch knew we were going to be here."

"Ray."

Ted's voice echoed from the foyer, beckoning him to where a tall, suave-looking man stood flanked by a dozen mercenaries and one stunningly beautiful woman.

"Bon Jou, Monsieur Reddington," the man's voice purred in a smooth accent hinting at Louisiana Creole, "Ze cavalry has arrived."

* * *

_Flashback - Leslie County, Kentucky - September 1993_

_"Marry me."_

_Georgiana and Francis were at a Labor Day barbecue at the Higgs estate when he suddenly and inexplicably knelt on one knee and popped the question._

_The proposal had come so completely out of the blue, so entirely too early, that all Georgiana could do was stare in an abject panic._

_Everyone was looking at her so expectantly..._

_Why didn't they look away? Why wouldn't they stop staring?_

_Francis cleared his throat meaningfully, drawing her attention back to the jewelry box in his hand. Admittedly, the ring was very, very beautiful, but Georgiana hadn't known for certain until that exact moment..._

_This was **not** what she wanted._

_Absolutely and unequivocally, the house and the picket fence with Francis was the last thing she wanted in this world._

_"Can we go somewhere and talk?" She whispered tentatively, reaching to take his wrist and guide him from the ground._

_The silence which followed them from the garden and into the main house was so dense Georgiana could hardly breath. She could all but feel the dozens upon dozens of eyes following her as she and Francis retreated to somewhere more private._

_Once they reached the lounge, the two sat on the loveseat, neither one speaking for several long minutes._

_"I don't think I can do this, Francis," Georgiana began finally, turning to look her boyfriend in the eye._

_"You're nervous," he nodded ruefully, "Hesitant. Because this is all going so fast, I get that...but Georgie, you and I have known each other since we were babes. You'll get used to it, I promise."_

_His response and the tone he used struck a nauseating nerve._

_"I have no desire to live a life I have to 'get used to' in order to like. My answer is no. I don't know what I want, Francis, but I know it's not this. I'm sorry."_

_His features turned ominous, "Don't you think you're being a bit selfish?"_

_Rather than backing down, Georgiana felt a well of resentment burst inside her, spilling out before she could bite back the words. "Don't you think you're being a bit premature? My god, Frank, we've been dating for six months! I've got a jar of peanut butter that's been around longer than our relationship."_

_"I'm a catch, you know that, right?" Francis jabbed a thumb at his chest, "Any girl would be lucky to have me and my family."_

_A condescending brow arched its way to the heavens as Georgiana's mind readily supplied the necessary ammo. "Are you really giving yourself a pat on the back for how awesome you are? You feel the need to do that now, of all times? I know rejection stings, Frank, but Lord Jesus, get a grip."_

_He vaulted himself off of the couch, standing to tower over her. "I just think you could use a reminder that the sun doesn't rise and set wherever you lay your head, princess."_

_Georgiana raised herself slowly, gracefully out of her seat, straightening her spine so she was so close to Francis their noses could have touched. "Go to hell, you two-bit entitled caricature of a man's man, and take that dimestore diamond with you."_

_She held his gaze with her own defiant one as she stepped past him, heading directly for the front door._

_"You're a bitch." He hissed, hurling the ring box at Georgiana and missing by several inches._

_Her words were acid when she turned around, giving him a sly smile before cutting him off at the knees._

_"Better a bitch than a rancher's wife trapped in a loveless marriage to an emasculated debutante constantly sniffing at daddy's heels for a drop of approval."_

_This silenced Francis like a slap to the face._

_Georgiana left immediately, cutting through the lower forty of the Higgs ranch and running across the fields and paddocks of the Haywood property as fast as her feet could carry her._

_Reaching the house, Rosalie hurtled through the door, slamming it shut and locking it firmly behind her._

_Calixte came hurrying from the study, her face a mask of concern. "My doll, what's going on?"_

_Rosalie couldn't help the tears which burst from her eyes without warning, "He asked me to marry him. Francis, he asked me to marry him and I- Oh, Calixte, I do **not** want to marry that man..."_

_Richard appeared from around the corner, sharing a meaningful look with his wife, "Well, this makes this next conversation much, much easier."_

_He held up the old shower head from the master suite for Rosalie to see._

_"We need to tell you something, chèrie."_

_"We thought it best to wait until The Metalist was back in town," Calixte explained, taking the item from Richard and placing it in Rosalie's upturned palms. "Richard found it when he was replacing the fixtures upstairs."_

_"What is it?" Rosalie asked, "That was months ago, 'Shard, why didn't you tell me?"_

_"I wanted to be certain of what we had before worrying you, Rosalie. I'm sorry." Richard looked it, too. His head was bowed and his eyes fought to remain on the floor, away from his friend's imploring gaze._

_"What is this?" She repeated, needing to know the significance of what she held in her hand._

_A pair of heavy boots thumped up the hallway, bringing the stout, glassy-eyed figure of the Metalist into full view. "That, my dear girl, is the answer to a great many questions."_

* * *

_The Metalist made a pot of tea and sat at the kitchen table with Rosalie, Richard, and Calixte, slowly explaining the implications of what they had found in the master suite._

_"__They tested the water." _

_Rosalie was shaking her head, riddled with disbelief that her parents had been slowly poisoned by these contraptions. "When Daddy fell ill, we had the well examined for contaminants and pollutants. I would have gotten sick-"_

_"The inspector would only test the source," the Metalist informed her, "Not what came from the taps. Your home runs on its own well water with sewage running to meet up with the public system. The mercury would not show in a test of the wells."_

_"Surely the hospital would have tested for heavy metals poisoning?" She tried again, looking for anything which could prove this wasn't what happened, that her father wasn't murdered in cold blood._

_"Not if they had no reason to assume he'd been exposed." _ _Calixte placed a comforting hand on Rosalies shoulder, "I'm sorry, Rosalie, but from what you mentioned of your parents' health, it sounds just like mercury poisoning."_

_Richard refilled her teacup, his expression somber. "We wouldn't bring this up unless absolutely necessary, chèrie. From what Calixte and I have heard, the only people who would stand to benefit from your family's downfall are the ranchers around you...Do you think they could have had a hand in this?"_

_"Tiberius." Rosalie whispered, "Tiberius Welch. His estate borders ours on the northernmost edge. He helped my dad remodel the master suite after my junior year of college, I remember him working on the shower."_

_The table's occupants turned at the sound of the house phone ringing. Nervous glances were exchanged between them, then Rosalie stood and picked up the phone. "Hello?"_

_A thick, somber voice echoed through the line, "Georgie?"_

_Rosalie's eyes fell to the floor, "What do you want, Frank?"_

_"I just want to talk, please Georgie."_

_She didn't feel much like talking, there was little left to say between them._

_But then her eyes fell on the poisonous contraption sitting in the center of the kitchen table._

_"Yeah, okay."_

_"Really?" _

_He sounded relieved._

_"Yeah, where do you want to meet?"_

_Calixte and Richard shook their heads, signaling she should hang up immediately._

_"What about that hill we went to that night when you came home, where we drank that bottle of strawberry wine?"_

_Rosalie let out a steadying breath, "Yeah, I'll be there in ten minutes."_

_"What are you thinking?" Richard growled once she hung up the phone, "For all we know, Francis could be in on it."_

_"I'm almost sure of it," murmured Rosalie, "This might be my only chance to confront him. I've got to go meet him."_

_Calixte stood, blocking the doorway to the hallway. "Rosalie, I don't think this is a good idea." _

_Rosalie reached out and hugged her friend, "I'll be careful, I promise, but I have to do this. I can't spend my life not knowing the truth about what happened."_

_She released her, snatched up the shower head and jogged from the room, heading out the front door and taking one of the four-runners._

_Richard stood solemnly, slipping his firearm from his jacket and checking the clip. "I'm not letting her go alone. Stay here, my prize."_

_Calixte nodded, stopping her husband with a hand to his chest, pressing her lips passionately to his before shooing him after Rosalie. "Bring her home, mon coeur."_

* * *

**A/N: **Trigger Warning****

**The Concierge and the Citadel deals regularly with canon-typical violence.**

**The end of this chapter contains scenes of such nature. Individuals who are easily triggered by such content are encouraged to skip this section. - xo, Author**

* * *

_Present Day - Unknown Location - February 14th, 2000_

The three cartel members closed the gate behind them, two remaining to guard the gate while the largest of the three moved toward the gaggle of women and young girls.

The huddle gave a collective shiver and pressed tightly together.

Rosalie watched as the man thrust out his arms and began tearing women from the group. He grabbed them by their arms, their hair, anything he could grasp.

Her breath caught when his cold, dark eyes swiveled in her direction.

He prowled around the group, then grabbed the woman directly behind Rosalie.

She screeched as she was flung to the ground.

Rosalie tried to cling tightly to the rest of the group, but a rough hand quickly fisted her hair, ripping her from the others.

"Hola, princesa," he grunted, signaling for the other men to open the gate, "We are going to have some fun, you and I."

Rosalie stumbled backward into his chest, her mind speeding through every possible escape scenario. She realized even if she managed to get away from the hulking figure holding her, there was a small gathering of Cartel members waiting outside the cage.

She was trapped, and they knew it.

These men wouldn't leave her be without just cause. They would heckle and taunt, they would beat her and attempt unspeakable violations, Rosalie could tell as much by their demeanor.

The criminal harbored in the darkest recesses of her soul raised her head in disgust. The demons within the young woman roared to the surface, utterly refusing the fate which loomed before her.

Gray eyes turned dark and sharp as razor blades as Rosalie took in the full breadth of the situation.

She couldn't take on the whole cartel, but she was confident she could win in an altercation with the bumbling beast dragging her toward the gate. She needed to ensure she had him alone.

Alone, he could be taken down.

Rosalie allowed several fat tears to fall from her eyes, forcing a drop of the fear she felt to the surface. Just enough to make the man before her feel at ease. She was small, she was vulnerable, she was a woman alone in an impossible situation.

She certainly couldn't be viewed as a threat.

Rosalie saw him take the bait, the most minute drop of his massive shoulders gave him away. "Now, now, princesa. Try to be brave, you have to survive a few more days in our care."

With a burst of speed, she twisted and slid between the man's legs, breaking his hold on her hair. She stood and sprinted, reaching the open gate and praying her plan would work, then she grabbed the padlock and closed the door, locking them both securely within the corral.

The other cartel members peered confusedly at her. A few had risen to block what they thought was an attempted escape, but now stood baffled as Rosalie and their comrade were now locked in the corral together.

The behemoth of a man whipped around, seeing the woman still in the cage with him. A foul, yellow-toothed grin cracked his features. Again, he underestimated the creature he had awoken in Rosalie, a creature she worked day and night to subdue.

Now, that creature, that _criminal_, was the only thing keeping her alive.

He took one step in her direction, and she was off again. Rosalie leapt up, grabbing the bars making up the top of the corral's cage and swung her legs. With an almighty force, she managed to kick the man across the face as he tried to get closer. He stumbled to the side, letting out a pained snarl.

She dropped from the bars, landing on her feet just in time to take off again.

He pursued her, only to slam himself into the corral's wall, making the wood and metal shudder with the impact.

Women were screeching and shouting all around them, the men outside the cage were yelling to their comrade, demanding he throw them the keys so they could assist.

The man didn't listen, and as Rosalie went to hit him, he backhanded her with a large fist.

The blow sent her sprawling, a spot high on her cheekbone aching as though it had split.

Before Rosalie could gather herself, he was on top of her.

A particular alarm bell began to ring inside Rosalie's head when she heard the sound of his belt buckle disengaging.

A rough, masculine hand slapped her hard across the face, "Just remember, princesa, you brought this on yourself."

A small but heavy boulder the size of a softball rolled into her periphery, and she instinctively closed her fingers around it.

Her pulse was pounding in terror, but her mind had gone blissfully blank.

Rosalie knew her subconscious was trying to dissociate from the trauma which was unfolding, but she couldn't allow it, she pushed against the protective fog which attempted to envelop her mind and forced herself to stay present.

The man on top of her pulled roughly at her belt, and Rosalie lost herself to the darkness unfurling inside her.

All she could see was red.

All she could feel was a white-hot, searing anger in the very depths of her soul.

He would not defile her, of that much, she was absolutely certain.

Swinging her arm as hard as she could, she brought the boulder forcefully into contact with the man's skull.

He leapt back, holding the side of his head where blood was beginning to trickle down. Roaring his fury, he stood to tower over once more, but Rosalie leapt up as well, letting loose a ferocious barrage of hits, repeatedly sending the man stumbling.

The white boulder became stained red with blood, but Rosalie didn't stop. She grasped the collar of his shirt in a tight fist, bringing him down to her level and throwing her arm as hard as she possibly could.

With a sickening _crack!_ she felt his neck give way, and the man went limp. His massive body toppled with Rosalie in tow, falling almost in slow-motion to the center of the dirt.

A deafening silence echoed along the mountainside as Rosalie rose from the crimson-stained dirt, the bloody boulder still clutched tightly in her once neatly manicured fingertips.

Her head lifted slowly, her blonde locks wild and streaked with red, and bestowed a hate-filled scowl upon the remaining cartel members, all of whom were staring, completely horrified, at the mangled face of their compatriot.


	31. Thieve & Thugs

A/N: **Trigger Warning**

The Concierge and the Citadel deals regularly with canon-typical violence.

This chapter contains scenes of such nature. Individuals who are easily triggered by such content are encouraged to skip sections which are preceded by asterisks. - xo, Author

Hello All,

Thank you very much for helping your girl through a moment of doubt. The results of the poll show a landslide preference (76%) for the content to remain exactly the same. So it shall be!

Without further ado, here is the long-awaited and extra long Chapter 31, Thieves Thugs.

xo- The Author

* * *

_Rosalie's Safehouse - Palmira, Colombia - February 14, 2000_

"Who are you?" Red questioned, striding into the foyer with Kate following close behind.

"Richard Moreau-Lilet, at your service," answered the tall man in the center of the group, genially waving his fingers in Red's direction. He made a sweeping gesture to the woman beside him, "This is my other half and business partner, Calixte."

Raymond eyed them with a suspicious glare, not sure what to make of this new presence at the safehouse.

He knew of the Lilets, of course, and had done his fair share of business with the syndicate's ports in the Gulf of Mexico, but he had never actually met the notorious Creole couple who controlled every inch of the criminal underground south of the Mason-Dixon line.

Richard's attire was decidedly retro, carrying the cut and styling emblematic of the mid-to-late 70's. The woman next to him was outfitted in a similar fashion, her svelte figure clad in a multicolored striped jumpsuit and her head crowned by a wealth of voluminous black curls.

The continued silence on both sides gave a hostile ambience to the room, setting all of its occupants on edge.

Calixte swept gracefully forward, cutting the mounting tension with her very presence. There was something elegant and ethereal about her bearing, setting the others at ease without a word.

Meeting her inquisitive stare, Red noted her eyes were a deep hickory haloed in golden amber, flickering with the same kind of warmth and cunning Rosalie's always exhibited.

Those eyes scorched Raymond from the inside out, seeming to look far too deeply into his soul for his own liking.

"Oh you poor dear," Calixte cooed soothingly, placing a gentle palm to his cheek, "Don't you see it, 'Shard?" She turned to glance at her husband before returning her sympathetic gaze to Raymond.

"He's her lover."

* * *

Calixte wrangled Raymond into the kitchen before he could blink; though, how she managed to do so was beyond him. He only truly registered the change of venue when he was deposited in a chair at the long kitchen table, a hot cup of tea appearing mysteriously in front of him.

Richard smiled knowingly from across the tabletop, his eyes honed on his wife with a delighted, predatory glint.

"I swear, it's some kind of magic only the two of them possess."

"What?" Red grunted, snapping out of the daze.

This response seemed to amuse Lilet even more, "Calixte and Rosalie," he chuckled, "They practice some sort of voodoo witchcraft, I'm sure of it. Every man in the room is far too agreeable when one of them is around."

"I heard that."

Calixte's low purr drifted toward them from the kitchen's island, where she had a handful of steaming mugs waiting. She doled the cups out to the security team and ushered the men out into the lounge before closing the heavy oak door, giving the group their privacy.

The two parties occupied opposite sides of the table, the gleaming wood delineating the separate territories.

Reddington's team consisted of himself and only two others. One was a middle-aged woman with thick-rimmed glasses and a stony gaze. Her pin straight black hair just skirted her chin, framing a taut, brooding expression.

"You must be the young man Rosalie was tending to a few months back…"

Calixte's excited whisper was directed toward the young black man on Reddington's opposite side. He was three times her size, but couldn't have been much more than twenty years old. Unlike his dubious cohorts, his brow was merely quirked with curiosity.

"Dembe," he answered, lifting his head stoically, "I believe you are the one whom Rosalie called for a lesson in Krio."

Both Reddington and Kaplan turned at this, staring at Dembe in blatant surprise.

Calixte beamed a warm, delighted smile, "I am pleased you are well, Dembe."

"I owe a great deal of that wellness to our mutual friend." Dembe intoned, "I hope you and your team are here to assist."

Richard stood and pulled out the chair beside him, gesturing for Calixte to take a seat. "We are indeed here for that reason, and that reason only." He took his seat once more and gestured to Ted, who sat on his left, "Ted initiated the protocol a little over ten hours ago, Rosalie hasn't yet been recovered, so here we are."

Red leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop, "So you are Rosalie's extraction team?"

"Oui. You see, My wife and I were Rosalie's very first clientele. She was a very different girl back then-"

"You brought her into our world." Reddington leveled an accusatory glare at the pair across from him.

"She was boxed into a corner and I opened a window." Richard corrected, relaxing into his chair as though he were merely bored, "Rosalie was the one who decided to slip through. There was no coercion involved, I assure you."

Red remained unconvinced, "Explain."

Richard let out a sigh, sharing a glance with his wife before delving into the tale.

"The woman you know as Rosalie Øllegaard grew up on a sprawling stud ranch in northern Leslie County, Kentucky."

The location managed to make something click inside Raymond's mind, "Break Maiden?"

Both Lilets flashed brilliant smiles at the name.

"You've been?" Calixte questioned, finding the knowledge surprising and delightful in equal measure.

"We spent a week there after a bit of a dust-up we encountered in Cuba and D.C," he half-heartedly explained, gesturing toward himself and Dembe. "You're saying it was her home, when she was a child?"

"Yes," Richard nodded, "She was a completely different woman back then. The world knew her as G-"

Red held up his hand, "Don't say it."

The barking order made the whole house go quiet, even the men who were talking back and forth in the lounge beyond the heavy oak door.

"My apologies," Raymond could all but hear the scolding Rosalie would have given him had she been there to witness him being so coarse with her friends. These were people she obviously trusted a great deal. She would want him to give them the benefit of every doubt.

He needed to try and be more civil.

Setting his untouched teacup back on the table, Red cleared his throat. "Rosalie's name is something I will know when she wishes it. I don't wish to hear it from anyone else. Please, could you continue without divulging it?"

Calixte seemed genuinely taken aback by his concern for Rosalie's anonymity, while Richard's visage was transported into a face-splitting grin.

"Lovely, lovely...Très bien. We'll tell it using the name she chose for herself, shall we?"

And so, the Lilets wove the tale of how they met the young woman who would later be known as Rosalie Øllegaard, taking it in turns to explain the relevant details of their acquaintance up until the night she discovered the truth about her parents' health.

* * *

_Haywood Estate - Leslie County, Kentucky - September, 1993_

_'Shard jogged silently up the dark path leading from the main house, through the nearby pasture to the quiet dirt lane which bordered the property._

_Tall, unkempt hornbeams and wild rose bushes blocked out any glimpses of moonlight, engulfing the road in an ominous darkness which made it difficult to traverse._

_The only sound which broke the still and quiet night was that of Richard's measured breathing and the crunch of his expensive boots hitting the graveled ground at a steady clip. It was early fall, but the night was still hot and humid, causing sweat to soak the collar of his shirt as he continued to run. Five minutes passed before he reached the end of the lane which marked the entrance to the paddock Rosalie had mentioned._

_He vaulted himself over the metal gate with ease, stopping for a millisecond to grimace at the rust coating his hands before taking off once more up the hill._

_There was no sign of Rosalie or Francis, from what 'Shard could see. His head swiveled endlessly left and right as he hoofed it up the incline toward the hill's peak. Just before the crest, he halted altogether._

_"Rosalie!"_

_'Shard stooped low, not trusting his surroundings, and called again in a carrying whisper._

_"Rosalie!"_

_No sound could be heard besides the endless chirping of crickets and wailing of cicadas._

_Then, a whooping gasp issued from somewhere ahead of him, followed by a weak, raspy voice which managed to croak out a single word._

_"'Shard?"_

_He leapt up at the sound, scanning the tall grass ahead for any sign of Rosalie. Richard made out a bit of movement in the weeds at the very top of the hill and sprinted toward it._

_His momentum came to a screeching halt when he came upon the crumpled form of Rosalie laying sprawled on the red clay earth._

_Blood covered Rosalie's front, pouring from her mouth and nose to stain her pale cotton dress crimson and coat her skin with dark rivulets._

_The sight filled 'Shard's gut with icy despair; at the same time, a corner of his psyche roared with a white-hot demand for vengeance._

_She had been savagely beaten, by Francis, no doubt. Though, by looking at her, Richard was not sure one lone man could have done so much damage in such a short period of time._

_It was evident the bastards who did this managed to break one of Rosalie's ribs, which punctured her lung upon impact. Her breath came in short hiccups, the shock to her system already beginning to settle in._

_"R-run," she whispered, "N-need to run."_

_"Shhh...I've got you now, we're going to get you an ambulance." How he was going to manage that, Richard wasn't entirely sure. They had no satellite phone and no other methods of contacting emergency assistance._

_"No," Rosalie rasped, the plea obviously causing her a great deal of physical pain. "No time. Ranchers. They're going to set fire to the field."_

_'Shard lifted his head once more, looking to the valley beyond the hill, seeing six shadows passing back and forth in front of a small barrel brimming with yellow and orange flames._

_"Merde," he hissed, dropping to the ground next to Rosalie. He placed a soothing hand on hers, his expression a despairing one, "I don't want to cause you pain. We shouldn't move you."_

_Rosalie patted his hand reassuringly, inhaling a shaky breath. "No other way. It's okay."_

_"Do you think you can walk at all?" Richard asked, dreading the answer. He could easily carry Rosalie, but it would be a fifteen minute journey back to the house with her in his arms, and who knew what condition she might be in by then._

_Rosalie shook her head vehemently, "M-my ATV. They didn't know I drove it. It's parked under-" she coughed impulsively, the action seeming to send another wave of nauseating pain all the way down to her toes. "Underneath the willow by the gate."_

_Richard caught a passing whiff of smoke._

_The scent must have reached Rosalie's nose as well. Her pupils contracted and she turned to him with a look of unmitigated terror. "Please don't leave me here, 'Shard."_

_The notion that she would even think such a thing cut Richard to his core. He slipped one arm behind her back and the other hooked beneath her knees. "Never, sweetling. Do you hear me? I'm not leaving you anywhere."_

_Tears carved their way down Rosalie's cheeks, cutting through the blood and the grit to fall upon his shirt._

_"This is going to hurt, and I cannot shield you from the pain." Richard felt hot tears stinging his eyes as well, rolling down his beard to mingle with the blood already soaking her front._

_"It's okay, 'Shard," she wheezed, fighting to gather enough oxygen to ready herself for the movement, "I'll still love you."_

_'Shard felt his chest tighten painfully at the sentiment, having never recalled being told he was loved by anyone other than his wife. It killed a part of him to do what he had to do next._

_In one smooth, swift motion, Richard stood, lifting Rosalie's shattered body with him._

_A sharp inhale forced its way into her lungs, followed by a muffled sob of deepest pain._

_"Je suis désolé ma chérie," he apologized, taking the first step down the hill._

_He grimaced as he watched Rosalie's face whiten with each step. No matter how cautious he was, every stride was agony, and there was nothing Richard could do to ease her suffering._

_He promised himself over and over that he would make those men pay, as soon as he was certain Rosalie would pull through._

_"'Shard?"_

_The whimper was so soft, he nearly missed it._

_"Yes, sweetling?"_

_She lifted her head, trying hard to focus on his face, "Please don't let this place burn."_

_Richard couldn't help a small chuckle at the request, out of all the things for her to concern herself with, Rosalie was more worried about the damn house. "All I'm focusing on right now is getting you to a doctor."_

_Her bottom lip trembled around a choked sob, "I've worked so hard to keep her, I can't bear to see her reduced to ashes now."_

_"I'll do everything in my power to keep it from spreading. Just stay with me, okay?"_

_Rosalie gave a jerky nod clenching her jaw in pain as she was set once more on the warm, rocky earth. Her hand suddenly shot up to clutch 'Shard's shirt, "The twins. Helia. They're my contingency. They'll know what to do."_

_He had no idea what she was referring to, but now was not the time to question. "I'll handle it, but you've got to stay awake, okay? I'll be back in just a moment."_

_He hurried to the willow tree beside the gate, brushing aside its sweeping branches to reveal the ATV Rosalie had taken to get there._

_The keys still dangled in the ignition, and Richard wasted no time in starting the vehicle and hitting the gas, hurtling out of the willow's shelter and into the open gate._

_"Okay, chèrie. Let's get you to a doctor."_

_Rosalie was eerily still when he lifted her again, a throaty gasp was all the noise she could muster at being jostled once more._

_'Shard swung his leg back over the ATV and nestled his passenger in his lap. Rosalie's knees were draped over his while his right hand cradled her torso in a secure hold._

_He took off with haste, apologizing profusely for every minor bump they encountered along the way. A cloud of dirt and dust billowed behind them and small pebbles clunked against the undercarriage as they tore down the lane._

_Rosalie had gone completely limp a few minutes into the drive, and a mounting panic flooded the man's chest with each second spent atop the lumbering vehicle._

_When they came within shouting distance of the house, Richard bellowed for assistance from the home's occupants._

_Both Calixte and the Metalist leapt through the front door, horror struck at the sight of Richard lifting Rosalie's bloody body from the ATV and hurrying to the porch._

_"What in God's name happened in that field?" Calixte hissed, scurrying down the steps to examine their friend._

_"Higgs." Richard gritted, lowering his arms so his wife could assess the extent of the damage done. "Francis and his esteemed patriarch. McCallister, Wilkes, the Welch brothers, they were all there at the base of the valley, waiting to pounce. She was left in a bloody heap atop the hill. I think she passed out on the ride back."_

_Calixte pressed her fingertips to Rosalie's neck, feeling the faint, thready heartbeat pulsing laboriously beneath. "'Shard, she needs a hospital…"_

_"There's an underground trauma center not ten minutes away, even less if we hurry…" muttered the Metalist, taking Rosalie's unconscious form from Richard and making for the truck._

_"Mon coeur," Calixte watched fretfully as their friend was carefully loaded into the back of the vehicle. "What if she doesn't-"_

_Richard's hand surged forward to grasp her shoulder, "Don't say it. She'll pull through if we get her to a hospital in time. Take Hector, do everything he asks."_

_"You're not going?" She questioned, appalled he would consider leaving at a time like this. "Higgs and the others can wait, 'Shard-"_

_His head gave a decisive shake, "I made a promise to Rosalie, one I am intent on keeping. I'll meet up with you as soon as I can."_

_"But-" His wife heaved a sigh, accepting the fact that Rosalie had obviously given him a task before she fell unconscious. Grabbing him by the lapels, Calixte kissed him soundly before taking the truck's keys and hoisting herself into the driver's seat._

_'Shard watched as the vehicle hurtled down the main road leading away from the house, its crimson brake lights fading far into the blackness._

_Once they pulled onto the county road, he turned on the ball of his foot and took the porch's steps three at a time._

_Flinging the front doors open with a bang, he flipped every switch in the house, flooding the home with light as his deep voice bellowed, "Rise and shine, boys and girls! Lever et briller! Y'all have some work to do tonight!"_

_The sound of five locks clicking resonated throughout the main floor of the Haywood home. The safehouse's hidden occupants stepped cautiously out from behind glistening wooden doors, confusion and suspicion darkening their features. A towering man with long, wild-looking gray hair and a leather vest was the first to enter the atrium, followed by a mousy middle-aged woman with a white jacket tucked demurely around her middle. The two spared a glance at each other before turning their curiosity on 'Shard._

_The man was known as 'Sergeant', but insisted Rosalie was allowed to call him Fred. He was the president of an outlaw motorcycle gang called the Pagans up until two weeks ago, when he'd gotten into a deadly altercation which decimated a rival group, leaving him to lay low in Kentucky until the heat subsided._

_The woman behind him went by the moniker, 'Helia'. Her specialty was as an independent contractor handling the destruction or planting of incriminating DNA evidence for high-profile clientele._

_From the opposite hallway appeared two identical men in their late twenties. Referred to as 'The Pepperwood Boys', Flint and Iggy were renegade hippies perpetually on the lam for arson and explosive damage. Their latest shenanigan involved the destruction of an animal testing laboratory in Cleveland, which crumbled to ruin under the brothers' combined talents. One of the volunteers taking the abused animals to safety had given them Rosalie's information and sent them running south before authorities could even respond to the blaze._

_The last member of the current clientele was a woman of indeterminate age dressed all in black. She gave no name, spoke to no-one, and her talents were as of yet unknown. Richard and Rosalie only knew she carried a set of blades in various places and a massive .50 caliber pistol. Her hair was cut in a short, spiked pixie cut, the bright ginger locks the only shock of color on her._

_Richard cleared his throat, stepping forward to address the contingent of fugitives. "Our girl is in a bit of a tight spot. Rosalie has been badly beaten, and the property has caught fire. I need your help. Rosalie needs your help. If we can't contain the blaze, this little haven she's built to hide our sorry asses will be ashes come morning."_

_"Is she going to make it?"_

_It was Fred who spoke first, his tone surprisingly soft and gentle for such a foreboding individual._

_"I-" Richard faltered before deciding on the truth, "I don't know. If she does, it's going to be a long road to recovery. Those cowards did a number on her."_

_A heavy, somber silence swallowed the room and its occupants, broken only by the urgency of the blaze burning steadily through the outlying property._

_The unnamed woman stepped forward, removing her trench coat to reveal a pristine white button down, its sleeves rolled up to reveal heavily tattooed limbs. Black bands circled her wrist and elbow, keeping a pair of razor sharp knives strapped to the underside of her forearms. She looked back at the others with a foreboding level of expectation._

_"Well, what are you all waiting for? The man said there's work to do."_

_Richard turned toward the twins, "Pepperwoods, Helia."_

_Flint and Iggy looked up, as did the mousy woman beside Fred._

_"Rosalie mentioned you three were a contingency of some sort before she lost consciousness. Does that mean anything to you?"_

_"Finally!" Helia cheered, exasperation evident in her tone. She turned on her heel and made for her room, from which they could hear the sounds of trunks and equipment being pushed about._

_"You're sure she said contingency?" Flint asked, "You're absolutely certain?"_

_"Because we're going to catch hell if we do this and she's not prepared..." Ignatious finished for his brother, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt in preparation._

_"She said contingency. Rosalie was very adamant- Wait, what are you-?"_

_"Gentlemen!" Flint called, clapping his hands together and stepping so he stood in front of Richard. "Ladies," he made sweeping gestures toward the unnamed redhead and Helia, who had just re-entered the atrium toting a large suitcase. "Iggy and I will be running the show from here onward, per Rosalie's behest."_

_The others could clearly see Richard's bemused scowl lurking behind Flint's burly 5'8" frame, making a rather comedic picture in the midst of all the chaos._

_"Madame, Fred-" Iggy gestured at the redhead and the biker, earning a deathly glare from the latter. "Sir," he tried again, reaching up to pat him on his snowy pate, "…fella?"_

_If looks could kill, Ignatious would be six feet under thrice over._

_Fred took a menacing step forward, succeeding in sending the smaller man scrabbling back toward his brother._

_"Oookay," stammered Iggy, "You two," he made a bowing gesture toward the dour individuals in question, "Your job is going to be to stop the spread. Ranches like these always have emergency equipment for situations such as this. There should be a water truck in the large shed behind the house, and bags of flame retardant as well. Douse the edges of the flame. Only the edges." He insisted pointedly, "You must let the field's interior burn."_

_Fred and the woman nodded without a word exiting the home without further ado._

_"Wait, why just the edges?" Richard asked, still trying like hell to get a word in edgewise._

_He was duly ignored in favor of further instructions being doled out._

_"Helia, our darling, precious Helia…" Flint waxed poetic, holding his hands out in obvious enjoyment of the moment, "Art thou ready for our little switcheroo?"_

_The mousy woman rolled her eyes and lifted the suitcase, "Yes, we're ready. Let's get on with this."_

_"What the hell is going on? Bellowed Richard, landing a swat to the back of Flint's head. Iggy managed to duck, avoiding the swipe the older man aimed at him._

_"Relax, our esteemed colleague," Ignatious soothed expertly, "Go with Little Red and the big fella. Help them get the blaze under control, and perhaps give them a lesson in smiling, lord knows they need it." _

_Both Iggy and Flint gave the group a salute before they each looped an arm through Helia's, striding in step toward the front door._

_"Wait!" Richard snapped, "What are the three of you up to?"_

_It was Helia who halted in the center of the doorway and turned with a confident smile._

_"We have our orders. Keep the flames away from the property's interior, 'Shard, we'll handle the rest."_

* * *

_Rosalie's Safehouse - Palmira, Colombia - February 15, 2000_

It was the wee hours of the following morning when Rosalie's extraction team set out to gather any and all available information to assist in her retrieval.

While the mercenaries were searching for intel, Richard and Calixte remained to assist Raymond and his team in their search.

Three more associates joined their group during the night on his orders; Baz, Toddrick, and Wallace had arrived shortly after three in the morning, jet-lagged, but eager to assist in the search for Rosalie. The additional muscle occupied all but one of the remaining seats at the long dining room table. The last open space sat directly across from Reddington, which they left untouched as a kind of vigil for their missing compatriot.

"What do we know about who ordered her capture?" Calixte began, setting out a tray for coffee and tea.

The whole table nodded their thanks as Red outlined what they knew of the everlasting thorn which had lodged itself in his paw since last April.

"We've been having a recurring issue with a man known only as the German. He and his associate have been working to undermine my business for about a year. That hasn't worked, and so they've resorted to chasing Rosalie for the past six months or so."

The Lilets shared a meaningful look across the table, which did not go unnoticed by anyone in Reddington's party.

"You know of him?" Kaplan inquired, watching their expressions most intently.

Madame Lilet pursed her lips, her tone carrying a distinct note of chagrin. "We've done business with him quite recently. Early January, I think?"

Richard gave a somber nod, "Dark hair, neatly clipped mustache, low German accent...He hardly said a word. I wish Rosalie had mentioned the problem back in November, we would have captured him immediately."

Reddington's team let out a collective sigh.

"In the past ten months, we have unearthed no more information than the insights you just provided." Dembe commiserated, providing an explanation for their dismay.

Red, however, seemed to latch onto the small bit of intel nestled within. "You said he did business with you; what did he purchase?"

"He purchased a munitions package through one of our suppliers, another Londoner dealing in Berettas mostly. The contraband was varying calibers of handguns plus a half dozen rifles and ammo. He made no mention of his intentions with the items."

"He did mention he was a UK national, though," Calixte contradicted, her proud stature refusing to shrink when the entire room turned to stare at her.

"_What_?"

Reddington's team chorused the question all at once, pouncing upon the first new piece of intel in almost a year.

Calixte's gaze flitted between the group and her husband before she gave a noncommittal shrug. "I commented on the boots he was wearing, I had planned on getting 'Shard a pair as a gift." Her attention turned back toward Reddington, "They're custom from a small shop in London. He mentioned he grew up in that area, near St. James's."

Red turned to Dembe, "Place a call to our contacts in London. I'm afraid we'll need to table the intel for the moment, but they can start looking into it. Tell them to be stealthy about it. Chasing the German too brazenly will only expedite Rosalie's extraction from Colombia. For now, our group will focus on the Los Reyes Sagrados cartel."

Dembe gave a curt nod, pulling out a satellite phone and excusing himself from the table.

Richard's pallor paled considerably, "Los Reyes Sagrados were the ones contracted to obtain her?"

Red recognized the note of concern darkening the other man's tone. "I take it you know of them?"

An unpleasant snarl tugged at Calixte's upper lip. "My husband and I refuse to work with Los Reyes, they're too hot-headed. That being said, we see a great deal of their shipping operations skirting around the routes we've built in the Gulf. If Rosalie is in their grasp, we don't have much time to secure her before they make their move."

A heavy silence swallowed the table once more, lingering before Kate Kaplan once again brought them all back to task. "What's their average turnaround on living contraband?"

"Less than a hundred hours." Richard mentally calculated their time frame, "We've got three, four days at the absolute maximum, but we've seen them move in as little as twenty-four hours. The location works in our favor, being as remote as this and knowing you and your associates are hunting them down, Los Reyes are going to be very cautious indeed. We might have a full three days to locate her before she's gone for good."

Calixte set her teacup gently upon the tabletop, "Rosalie left nothing to chance. If she's not recovered by the twenty-four hour mark, I'm sure the others will be dispatched."

"Others?" Red balked, "You're telling me there are more of you?"

"Oh yes," she murmured sincerely, "Ted?"

Ted Beaumont had been uncharacteristically silent during the whole ordeal. He lifted his gaze from his teacup, scanning the others before clearing his throat.

"The others will come in waves. Every twelve hours once we reach the twenty-four hour mark. The next pair have already been dispatched, they'll be here this evening."

Red ran a weary hand over his face. "Do we have the slightest clue who's going to show up on our doorstep next?"

The opposite side of the table was pointedly silent, answering his question well enough.

Richard finally shrugged and held up his hands, "We can only guess, Monsieur. In truth, we have no earthly idea."

* * *

_Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - February 15, 2000_

It was late the following morning when Rosalie shifted, her back tight from a night of keeping watch against the rocky mountainside.

The other women and young girls in the corral were still asleep, curled in the spaces around her like a weary flock seeking protection.

After the altercation of the day before, the cartel members steered well clear of the corral and its murderous new occupant.

Their comrade's bludgeoned corpse remained sprawled near the gate as a warning.

The women within had gained a great deal more fortitude after watching Rosalie take down the cartel's cruelest, most sadistic member, a man known only as El Bárbaro. They took the gate keys from his person shortly afterward, ensuring the only way the others could get into the corral would be to climb over the wall.

Only one had been foolish enough to try.

A low-level _halcone_ had hoisted himself over the fence around midnight only to be met by a contingent of bloodthirsty women ready and eager to lay waste to any interlopers.

They attacked with every available projectile, from smooth, small boulders to thick branches off the tree which overlooked the corral. A few had even removed their belts to use as makeshift weapons against him.

The man barely escaped with his life, saved at the last moment by a brave compatriot who helped hoist him and his broken arm back over the gate before the advancing women could finish the job.

Rosalie couldn't help but smile with malicious pride at the band of unruly females, who had snarled and screeched their fury at their captors, calling them all the vile names which had been hurled their way over the span of their captivity.

It seemed it only took one captive standing her ground to instigate a complete revolt.

The older woman and the young girl who had pulled Rosalie from the ground just before the corral was infiltrated were there in the thick of it all, shouting and attacking in unison alongside the others.

The two now lay on either side of her, the elder woman resting against the mountainside while the young girl lay nestled against Rosalie's thigh.

Rosalie gently brushed the tangled locks from her face, the dark brown tendrils falling in a tousled riot in her lap.

The girl stirred a little, stretching tiredly. She was terribly thin. The tattered pink shirt she wore was much too large for her, its hem long enough to cover her knees entirely.

"Ella solo tiene diez años."

Rosalie turned to see the woman solemnly watching her. "¿Su familia?" She questioned, trying to keep her voice low.

The girl stirred, lifting her head from its resting place and curling her feet beneath her.

"Gone." She whispered in a high, broken voice, "The cartel. They took all the young girls to keep the men in our village in line. My mom was shot in the road outside our home, then the cartel took me to make sure my father would have no choice but to do as they asked."

"You speak English." Rosalie was surprised at this, "How long have you been here?"

"We had been learning in school, up until the cartel raided our village," the girl explained, "That was two weeks ago. I've hid with the other girls for as long as I could, but our numbers have been dwindling."

Rosalie's stomach clenched unpleasantly, "They've been killing the other girls?"

"Yes," the girl stated matter-of-factly, "Sometimes, the girls try to escape and get shot, other times they kill her for sport or because her family did not meet the cartel's demands. They killed my best friend the day you came here."

"Why?" Rosalie breathed, shocked by the ease with which such a young child spoke of such inhuman actions.

She shook her head, her bottom lip giving a feeble quiver. "Our fathers did not do as they were told by the cartel. They executed them, and so there is no need for the cartel to keep either of us. When they grow bored next, they will come looking for me."

"No," Rosalie reached out, pulling the little girl into her outstretched arms and cradling her head to her bosom. "I'm not going to let that happen. I know what it is to lose your family, it's one of the most painful events one can endure. I'm so sorry it's befallen you at such a young age, sweetling. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Dolores," she sniffled, curling morosely into Rosalie's side, "My friends called me Lita."

Rosalie rested her cheek atop Lita's head, a hand reaching up to pat the dark curls soothingly. "There are people coming for me, Lita, and when they do, we will all be free."

The older woman beside her scoffed, earning herself a positively ferocious scowl.

"Everyone has someone coming…" She retorted, resting against the mountainside once more. "Until they don't show. Don't promise her what you can't give."

Rosalie glared scathingly at the woman before turning her head back to the child in her arms.

She was confident Raymond and her team would find her. It was only a matter of time.

By now, Richard and Calixte would already be in Colombia with her extraction team. By nightfall, the second wave would arrive at the safehouse as well. They would find her, and when they did, Lita was coming with her.

"Psst."

Several women raised their heads, turning toward the sound issuing from the edge of the corral

A tall, bald man in a white henley and dark grey pants was peering through a gap in the fence.

"Rogelio…" several of the women whispered the man's name, turning to see what warning he had come to give.

He looked directly at Rosalie, his dark eyes apologetic. "You need to prepare yourselves. They have the bolt cutter, and los sicarios are furious about the revolt happening here. They are looking to set an example. Dos, tres minutos, no màs."

The women in the space began scuttling about, hurrying the younger girls into the corner.

A harried frenzy caught the air as the inevitability of their sanctum being breached once more seemed to sink in for the captives.

One by one they manned their arms, lifting fallen branches into weary hands, removing their belts, picking up small boulders and rolling them between nervous palms.

Then, just beyond the gate, they heard the clinking of metal on metal.

Rosalie turned to the small gap in the fence, but Rogelio was already gone. Her attention moved to Lita, whose face could be seen amongst the other young girls, looking horrorstruck.

"Stay with the girls." She demanded, waiting for Lita to acknowledge the command before striding to the front of the group of women, watching the entrance expectantly.

Rosalie undid the catch at her wrist, loosening one of the kunai blades from beneath her sleeve. Though the cartel had confiscated her firearm from the holster which resided at the small of her back, nobody had bothered to properly search Rosalie before throwing her into the corral. The flat blades passed unnoticed for days, providing a small assurance to their owner. She had kept them secret for as long as she could, but Rosalie's situation had finally reached the point where she was forced to use the tools available to her.

The cool, sturdy metal slipped from its sheath, the weighted ring sliding easily over her middle finger.

Thankfully, the night she was taken, Rosalie had forgotten to wear the ring Raymond had given her. It was nestled safely in its box on her nightstand, away from the coveting eyes of the cartel.

Her mind spared a brief thought for her romantic partner, wondering how deep in the underground he would have to go to find her.

As it stood, unless the women managed to overpower the cartel's foot soldiers, the likelihood of Rosalie making it out of the campground of her own volition was slim to none.

She could only hope she would be able to hold on long enough for them to find her.

A silent prayer lifted to any deity who would head the call, quietly pleading for the fates to be kind to those she cared for most.

A heavy metallic thunk echoed against the gate as the padlock was cut, the entry swinging open on creaky hinges to reveal more than a dozen tall, foreboding men.

The group were halcones, the underlings and lowest levels of the cartel's hierarchy. Behind them waited a half dozen armed men referred to as sicarios, the violent enforcers of the cartel's regime.

They marched into the corral amidst hisses and jeers from the women within, the cacophony of noise serving as cover for the rustling of restless hands heavy with makeshift weaponry.

When the first halcone stepped forward, a dark boulder flew from the back of the group, signaling the first shot over the bow in the women's renewed altercation with their captives.

Chaos ensued when the boulder hit its mark, striking the man in the shoulder and sending him staggering into his fellows.

The others surged forward, barreling into the women with fists flying.

With a flick of her wrist, Rosalie sent a blade spinning through the air toward an oncoming assailant. The projectile lodged itself in his chest, slowing his advance to a stumbling shuffle until he crumpled to the ground several feet in front of her.

She sprinted forward, dodging the melee of attacks flying from both the women and the cartel's men, then yanked the knife from the fallen man's sternum. She carelessly drew the edge of the blade across his throat, ensuring he was no longer a threat before slipping the blade's ring around her fingertip once more.

Women were dropping all around her, the sheer physical force the men were able to wield against them was all-encompassing, all but impossible to overcome.

A heavy fist swiped through the air, landing a devastating hit to Rosalie's torso and another to her back.

He would have managed another blow had it not been for a well-timed boulder colliding with the back of his skull.

A wild-haired woman gave Rosalie a fierce nod before scurrying to help the others.

Whipping around, Rosalie punched the guy in the face for good measure, wincing at the pain which flared through her hand at the action. Lifting her head, she took a brief look around and saw in the distance another man atop a familiar looking figure, his fist colliding with a face no longer recognizable.

The woman who had lifted Rosalie from the ground, who had slept at her side the night prior, lay in a limp, bloody heap beneath him.

Blind with rage, Rosalie vaulted over the strewn bodies around her, landing with a thud on the man's back.

He roared at the incursion, reaching to snatch at her with blood-covered hands.

The man didn't have the leverage to pull her off and with a swift thrust, Rosalie managed to bury the knife in his carotid.

"Enough!"

A gunshot echoed from the gate alongside a booming voice just as a stiff cable slipped its way around Rosalie's neck, tightening with a swift yank.

The restriction instantly set Rosalie's lungs heaving, instinctively searching for oxygen that wouldn't come.

Staggering backward, her dark eyes searched blearily for the source of her asphyxiation. A cartel sicario stumbled into her periphery, his hands clenched tightly about a catch pole. The device, typically reserved for subduing strays and wild animals, instead held Rosalie rooted in place at the end of the long pole, ensuring she could not retaliate against anyone else.

Rosalie's fingers clawed desperately at her throat, leaving small pink scratches on her skin where she tried to remove the object obstructing her airway. Slowly, her eyelids began to flutter, signaling her body's imminent collapse due to lack of oxygen.

A stoic individual with slick black hair and a spruce mustache strutted slowly toward the struggling woman, a contingent of armed sicarios surrounding him as he entered the corral. He was obviously the boss of the operation, also known as the Capo.

Opaque sunglasses shielded his eyes, but it was obvious the Capo's attention was firmly fixed on the thrashing creature before him.

His men fanned out, guns pointed at the remaining captives, who hastily dropped their weapons and backed toward the rear of the space with their hands raised in surrender.

With a snap of the man's fingers, the noose was loosened just enough for Rosalie to catch a breath.

She coughed and spluttered, drawing in wheezing lungfuls of air and staggering to keep her knees from giving out beneath her.

"Shh, shh, shh," he tutted her misfortune, reaching out a hand to cup her face in his large, calloused palms. "What an inferno you are, querida." He crooned, circling her at his leisure, seeming to savor her predicament.

"Fuerte…Furiosa…"

Rosalie lurched when she felt his warm breath against her ear.

"Salvaje…"

His hands drifted downward, caressing her waist lasciviously. "Pàlida. Bonita, like sculpted glass…It's a shame we can't keep you. I do so love watching glass things break."

His touch sent a shudder of revulsion through Rosalie's frame, the flagrant disregard for her consent coaxing another white-hot flare of indignation to lick at her insides.

With what felt like the last vestiges of her strength, she surged forward, attempting to lodge the last of her blades in his throat.

Her forward momentum was halted by the noose, however, and the Capo easily sidestepped her attack with a deep, throaty chuckle.

Two more sicarios surged forward, ripping the weapon from her hand and quickly frisking her person for any other contraband.

Rosalie managed to kick one across the mouth before the man holding the catch pole yanked her to the ground, gasping and spluttering once again.

"Careful, querida, you're toeing a fine line."

"You have no idea what kind of line you've crossed." Rosalie hissed, rising to her feet once more.

The sicario tightened the noose warningly, the pressure against her larynx ensuring she did not attempt another attack.

"I know you're more trouble than you're worth." The Capo's nasty smile turned into a ferocious scowl, "I know your antics have cost me one of my best sicarios. Lucky for you, the buyer has placed a considerable bounty on your head, so it behooves me to keep you alive."

His head tilted in an obvious once-over before he invaded her personal space one more.

"Unfortunately for you, he did not specify in what condition you were to be delivered. What's to keep me from handing you over to my men until the German comes to collect you?"

Rosalie carefully schooled her expression, not letting on the fear she felt roiling in her gut at such a threat.

"Raymond Reddington."

"What about Reddington?" The Capo snarled viciously, coming nose to nose with her.

"Oh?" Rosalie managed a strangled sort of laugh, "Your underlings failed to warn you the contract was for one of Reddington's people?"

Even behind his dark glasses, Rosalie could tell he was casting a thunderous look at his men. He had given himself away in an instant.

Rosalie leaned forward, wincing as the cable around her throat tightened once more.

"Put your ear to the underground, Capo," she managed in a rasping whisper, "He's coming for me. You've managed to incur the wrath of a deadly foe indeed."

The Capo's lip curled with a quiet, unshakeable fury, delighting his supposed captive even further.

"Even if you make it to the handoff without being detected, Raymond Reddington will hunt you down if it takes his dying breath to do so." Rosalie threatened in a soft, deadly murmur, "Imagine what atrocities he will have in store for you should you allow your men free rein. Imagine the death and destruction which will come barreling over that hillside, and _you_ with nowhere left to scurry."

It was Rosalie's turn to tut at his misfortune.

The jeering sound was the final straw for the Capo. His fist whipped through the air, the back of the large appendage catching Rosalie high on her cheekbone, his ring cutting into the smooth skin of her temple.

The hit was hard enough to send her staggering toward the ground, dizzy with what was undoubtedly a concussion.

"Take this piece of contraband and put her in isolation. I won't have her instigating riots at all hours until the German deigns to come and collect her. Cage her and be done with it."

The sicario holding the catch pole tightened the noose once more and tugged, forcing Rosalie to her feet.

Her hands clawed at the cylinder holding the noose to no avail, and eventually she was pushed backward by the sicario's guidance. She managed to overhear the Capo instructing the rest of his men as she was forced from the corral.

"You've lost control of this batch. Wipe them out and start again."

The barrage of gunshots rang out before the Capo even left the corral, sparing a malicious smile for Rosalie who continued to struggle against the noose guiding her backward.

Her expression turned to one of utmost horror when she realized he had just ordered the execution of every woman and child held inside the corral as though they were nothing, as though their lives held no worth at all.

The sicario was unphased, forcing Rosalie easily up the hill. Reaching its crest, he pushed her roughly through a metal gate and into a 12x6 animal cage the Capo had wedged against the cliff. He closed and locked the entrance before loosening the noose and using the stick to send Rosalie sprawling to the rear of the enclosure.

He walked away without another glance, the catch pole resting leisurely against his shoulder.

Coughing and gasping, Rosalie scrambled to her knees, her hands clutching at the bars of her new prison. Her voice grew hoarse as she shouted her fury, pulling fruitlessly at the bars as she was forced to listen to the dozens of rounds being fired into the crowd of women in the corral below.

Rosalie wept openly when the air finally fell silent.

A haze of gun smoke drifted lazily up the hillside and the terrified screams abruptly ceased, the quiet marking Rosalie Øllegaard as the last living captive of the Los Reyes Sagrados cartel.

* * *

_Overlook Safehouse - Palmira, Colombia - late evening, February 15, 2000_

"Well, he's volatile."

'Shard sidestepped a wooden chair which had been vaulted across the room by a furious Raymond Reddington.

The man was in the midst of interrogating a local bounty hunter who had done business with Los Reyes Sagrados in the past month.

The piece of furniture banged against the stone wall, splintering into a number of pieces before clattering noisily to the floor.

"Goodness me. Rosie's not going to be happy about that."

The two newest members of their extraction team sidled in tandem down the steps leading to the basement.

The Pepperwood boys had arrived shortly before noon per their protocol, bringing with them another half dozen battle-hardened men at arms.

The fair-haired twins with their playful natures and irreverent wit ought to have been a topic of immense enjoyment for Red, but their arrival merely served as a reminder that another twelve hours had gone by and they had yet to locate Rosalie.

The third team had already been dispatched; they would arrive any moment. The makeup of the next pair were just as mysterious as the first, but Flint and Ignatious insisted it would include Helia.

"He's a good man," Calixte defended Reddington against the others, taking a leisurely step backward so the remnants of a shattered vase wouldn't get on her shoes. "It's been nearly forty-eight hours. He's becoming desperate."

Dembe Zuma stepped silently out of the stairwell leading to the main level, making a straight line toward his employer.

The man had the bounty hunter dangling from a wood beam, the noose around his neck just low enough for him to balance on the tips of his toes without suffocating.

Every once in a while the fellow would lose his balance, sending him scrambling to regain his footing, least he strangle himself.

"Raymond."

Red grunted in response, his lungs heaving in his chest as he turned baleful eyes on his companion.

"The next group will be here any moment, you should return to the main level." When it looked as though Raymond was going to disregard his suggestion, Dembe added, "Brimley indicated we need to take a break before going at him again."

A disgruntled sigh left the older man's throat. "Don't let him suffocate while I'm gone," he instructed the mercenary on his immediate right before turning mechanically on the ball of his foot and exiting the room.

Rosalie's extraction team all watched curiously, unsure whether it was wise to follow him.

Calixte was the first to bravely ascend the stairs, arriving at the top of the flight to an empty hallway.

It had begun to rain quite heavily, the downpour pattering noisily against the home's terra-cotta roof. The windows looking out into the garden were almost black, spattered with water droplets which mingled to trickle slowly down the glass.

A shadow moved somewhere on Calixte's right.

The tall, broad form of Raymond Reddington stood like a sentinel in the master suite. His dark visage was unmoving as he lifted something small from the nightstand on the left side of the bed before stepping out onto the room's balcony.

Calixte weighed her options for a long beat, considering what Rosalie would do were she there.

Knowing her friend, she would not stand idly by while her lover stewed in his own misery.

Her decision cast, she strode the length of the hall and entered the master bedroom.

Taking a furtive look about the space, Calixte recognized Reddington's shadow seated on the patio's loveseat. The warm light of a small lamp cast its light over his person, highlighting his solitude in a taciturn glow.

Calixte knocked softly on the sliding door's frame as she stepped out onto the covered veranda. A sharp gasp left her lips when she looked down to see a magnificent solitaire nestled in his hand, its dark green stone glittering radiantly even in the low light.

"Oh my, I-"

Red looked up to see her eyes flit nervously between himself and the jewel he held.

"I didn't realize you and Rosalie were-"

"We're not," he cut her off, allowing the glinting band to tumble from one hand to the other. It was surprisingly small and delicate-looking laying there in his upturned palm. "It was a gift."

Calixte gingerly took the spot beside him, giving the ring a good long look. It was stunning and unique, yet utterly timeless in its design. Without having to ask, she knew it had been made specifically for Rosalie. It may have been a gift, but she would bet her knickers there was a great deal more behind the gesture.

"Gift my ass," she teased playfully, beaming when the quip managed to coax a small smile to Reddington's lips.

"I got it for her at the end of last year after she negotiated and executed this colossus of an expansion to her network. It took months, but she pulled through with impeccable grace. It took a great deal of trust for her to lean on me during that time." Raymond couldn't help the chuckle which leapt from his lungs as he remembered the morning he'd given it to her. "She was terrified when I slipped the box into her hand. I mean, I damn near had to pin her in place, least she bolt for the door. It was like holding a stone statue while I explained that I wasn't trying to needle her into marrying me."

They both laughed at this, perfectly able to picture the sheer panic on Rosalie's face at being presented with what could have easily been misconstrued as a proposal.

"We didn't talk about it at the time, but…I did wonder why she seemed so averse to the idea. Now I know."

Calixte placed a comforting hand to his shoulder, though her tone was completely unapologetic. "The ordeal with Francis made Rosalie more than a little averse to the concept of marriage, and rightfully so. A young man inserted himself into her life under the guise of loving her when in truth he was there for personal gain. Francis chipped away at her little by little with his cool indifference. Slowly, stealthily, he worked to mold her to suit his needs, not once recognizing that a woman like her could never be molded into anything other than what she was. His temper flared ruthlessly when she dared to step out of line. If she protested her own mistreatment he made her believe it was her own fault; made her believe she was selfish and hateful for not doing as he asked. He insisted that all he did was try to help her, to make her better, make her something more. Francis consumed her, making her smaller and smaller until there was damn near nothing left. Rosalie allowed it because she was young and afraid. He was familiar, and she was convinced he loved her. She thought she knew what love looked like, then. Turns out, our dear girl only learned what love is not nor should ever be. Rosalie learned an agonizing lesson from that boy. The fact she's let you in at all is a goddamn miracle."

"He gaslighted her." Red shook his head woefully, a great many curiosities about Rosalie's personality being laid to rest by this information. "I don't understand men whose egos are so woefully fragile they need to belittle and berate the very women willing to give them the world in order to feel good about themselves. I'm even more appalled to learn Rosalie would tolerate such behavior from a romantic partner."

Calixte immediately came to her friend's defense.

"The woman you know as Rosalie Øllegaard is confident, self-assured. _Healed_. Back then, she was twenty-three years old and anyone but herself. In the span of six months, she had lost her parents and been thrown into defending her home from financial vultures without a soul to lean on for help. Don't judge her too harshly for relying on the good in others back then. She hadn't yet learned the hard lessons we've all experienced."

The woman laughed aloud as she stood to fix herself a drink from the bar cart. "Merde, I would kill for Francis to be able to run into her now. There'd be nothing left of him by the time she was done."

Red watched while Calixte poured herself a bourbon neat, a silent offering for her missing friend.

"Voodoo and witchcraft, as my husband says," she laughed, catching his inquiring stare. "It's all about intent, which is why I'm having bourbon. That's what our girl drinks when the road gets rough and her feet grow weary."

"That's your intent, that wherever she is she soldier on until we can find her?"

Calixte held his gaze without blinking, lifting her glass in a toast before taking her seat once more. "Yes indeed, my doll."

Raymond chuckled to himself, not truly believing in such practices.

All the same, when he set his glass on the bar top, it was not the scotch he reached for. He poured two fingers of the same bourbon and reclaimed his spot on the loveseat.

"Francis. What happened to him after Rosalie was hospitalized? And the field? You and your husband never said."

Calixte patted the voluminous curls atop her head, sparing a conspiratorial glance for Red before tittering across her glass. "Well, by now, you must know Rosalie doesn't take kindly to being ambushed."

Red roared with laughter, his tongue prodding the inside of cheek. "No," he sighed, "I daresay she doesn't."

It was Calixte's turn to laugh, "Well, we were just learning how much of a criminal she really was. What happened next took us all by surprise."

* * *

_Haywood Estate - Leslie County, Kentucky - September, 1993_

_Richard Moreau-Lilet trudged wearily from the back paddock, his white shirt tarnished with soot and ash. The hems of his slacks were singed black after battling the blaze away from the center of the property and he was almost certain the bottoms of his shoes had melted a little._

_Fred and the nameless redhead trudged alongside him in a similar haggard state. Despite the amount of flame retardant they had scattered from the backs of the ATV's and the water they had pumped from the truck which they'd found in the shed out back, it had still taken them all night to get the fire under control. The back paddock and the one due south of it were both in ruin, but the house, stable, and surrounding paddocks were pristine._

_Pale smoke still rose in tall plumes into the air surrounding the area, but the Pepperwood boys had assured them the flames were no longer an issue, and so, they left their posts._

_The three makeshift firefighters made for the main house to check on Rosalie._

_No news had reached them yet, which Richard believed to be a good sign. If her condition had worsened in the night, Calixte or the Metalist surely would have come to alert them to the situation._

_Not bothering to change out of their singed and tattered attire, the three chose to head directly for the underground hospital._

_Fred climbed onto his motorcycle once they reached the driveway, kicking the thunderous engine into life and taking off down the lane._

_Richard and the woman followed in the battered truck, taking to the winding road in silence._

_Fifteen minutes passed before they pulled up to a dairy farm far south of Break Maiden. _

_The place was perfectly unsuspecting, functioning as a small family dairy by day and a fully staffed underground hospital by night. Reaching the gate, Fred entered the appropriate code to allow them entry. Both vehicles sped through the opening and up the gravel path leading to the back of the home._

_A young man flagged them toward a sprawling covered paddock in which several vehicles were parked in neat rows. Richard took the spot directly beside Fred's bike, threw the vehicle in park, and exited with his passenger._

_"Who are you here for?" The boy asked, having come up alongside them as they parked. He was all of twenty years old, his curly black hair and his long, gangly build giving him the look of an awkward teen._

_"Richard Moreau-Lilet. My wife, Calixte, came here with our friend Rosalie last night."_

_"Sick aliases," the boy sniggered, checking his clipboard. The amusement died in his throat when he looked up to find the three fugitives glaring stonily down at him. "Um, she's in a private room…3B in the trauma bay. If you'll step into that stall there, I can send you down."_

_Richard turned with his companions and stepped into a metal horse stall on the far end of the paddock. Once they were inside, the young man opened an electrical box mounted on the side of the stall._

_"Please keep your arms and legs inside the compartment at all times, the elevator will take them off if you don't"_

_With a cheery wave, he pressed a series of buttons, sending the stall rumbling down the shaft. A bit of straw rained down on the elevator's occupants as the floor closed overhead, leaving them in the dark as they descended into the hospital below._

_The space was flooded with light once they reached the lower level, and another attending greeted them with a warm genial smile. _

_"Welcome to Subterra Hospital, where our motto is Curae Sine Damnant; or Care Without Condemning. My name is Marcus, I'm the concierge. Now, are you visiting or admitting?"_

_"Visiting." Richard sighed, already sick of this tediousness._

_"Excellent, do you have the room number?" Marcus asked, smiling benignly back at the formidable trio still standing in the stall._

_"3B in the trauma bay." Fred answered gruffly, obviously as eager to get rid of this man as 'Shard was._

_"Oh yes," Marcus tutted, shaking his head. "That was a doozy. Follow me, please."_

_The three shared a concerned look before following the concierge through the hospital's sterile white interior._

_Doctors and nurses passed by at a steady clip, all dressed in pale green scrubs and masks. They passed a number of recovery and operating rooms before turning down a quiet hallway to their right._

_The Metalist was seated outside Rosalie's room, carrying heavy bags beneath his eyes and holding two steaming cups of coffee. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, sitting up abruptly when he recognized the individuals making their way toward him._

_Marcus stepped out of the way once they arrived at the door, leaving the group to catch up in peace._

_"How is she?" Richard immediately asked, taking the seat beside the Metalist._

_Fred and the woman grabbed a pair of wooden chairs from the opposite wall and pulled them up alongside the others, waiting on tenterhooks to hear what had happened._

_"Rosalie is going to be fine," the Metalist sighed, "She woke up ten minutes ago, Calixte is in there with her and the physician now."_

_"How much damage was done?" The woman asked, her tattooed forearms resting on her knees._

_"Why do you all look like you've been playing with matches?" He countered suspiciously, looking between her, Fred, and Richard. "I'm surprised you've still got all your eyebrows."_

_The others were about to offer up a retort when Calixte and a man in a white lab coat stepped out of Rosalie's room._

_The bickering group fell silent, their combined gaze now looking expectantly at the physician._

_"You must be the family?" He asked, looking between the four individuals, all of obviously varying genetic makeups._

_"Yes." 'Shard stated decisively, rising to his feet. "How is she?"_

_The physician leaned against the closed doorway, "I won't lie, she's going to have a long recovery. There's no lasting damage, but the fact of the matter is, the people responsible for her state were quite rough."_

_"What was the extent of her injuries?" The unnamed redhead repeated her earlier question, hoping to gain an answer this time._

_The doctor flipped open her chart once more, reciting back the list of injuries he had just gone over with his patient. "Rosalie has a few broken ribs which she will need to be very cautious with. It's a painful recovery, especially given one of the ribs punctured her right lung. We repaired the hole with a chest tube, which should allow it to fully heal in about two months, along with the ribs. She has a fair deal of bruising and lacerations to the surface of both her face and torso as well as contusions to the bones in her arms consistent with domestic abuse. We're monitoring for concussion and her left wrist has been cast due to a hairline fracture in the distal ulna. She's awake for now, but it's important for her to rest."_

_"When can she be discharged?" Fred growled, quite obviously seething beneath his stoic demeanor._

_The physician closed his charts with a sigh, "We expect to discharge in four days, but I can't stress enough that Rosalie will need to take it easy for a couple months."_

_"Understood. Thank you, doctor."_

_Richard shook the man's hand and waited patiently while the retreated down the lengthy hallway before turning to the rest of the group. "I want to see her."_

_His hand reached for the doorknob only to be blocked by Calixte._

_"She asked to see them first." Her gaze turned toward Fred and the woman, who immediately shot out of their seats. _

_Bypassing Richard, Fred held the door open for his counterpart, closing it behind him so it was only the Lilets and the Metalist left in the waiting area._

_"Why does she want to see them first?" Richard asked, a little put out. _

_Calixte took one of the empty seats, patting the one beside her, "Rosalie didn't say. Come, tell me why the three of you look like you've been in a bush fire…"_

_Richard begrudgingly took his seat, explaining the events which occurred at Break Maiden in their absence._

_The Metalist and Calixte shared a look of suspicion at the mention of the Pepperwood Boys._

_"So you were playing with matches." The former surmised, nodding his head. _

_Calixte was just as confused as 'Shard. "I'm not sure what would possess Rosalie to get those two involved, and why Helia? A pair of firebugs and a DNA forger? It doesn't make any sense-"_

_At that moment, Fred and the redheaded woman flung the door to Rosalie's room wide, striding out into the hall and making for the exit without a word._

_"Hey!" Richard called, scowling at their retreating backs, "Where the hell do you think you two are going?"_

_Neither answered him. Doctors and nurses looked confusedly down the stretch of hall from which all the commotion was coming, but quickly looked the other way when confronted with the two angry fugitives making their way through the underground building._

_"I think they've got orders of their own." The Metalist offered, silently gesturing the man should keep his voice down, "She's waiting for you."_

_Both Calixte and Richard leveled the Metalist with looks of shocked suspicion. _

_"You know what's going on, don't you." It was not a question Calixte posed, merely an observation._

_The Metalist's expression was unapologetic, "I have a good hunch, nothing more."_

_Neither of the Lilets believed him, but they tabled the altercation for the sake of going to the source._

_They stepped into the quiet room, sparing one last suspicious glance for the man in the hall before closing the door once more._

_Rosalie lay still in the hospital bed, her left arm propped up on a pillow with its heavy cast. Her face was heavily bruised and swollen, forcing her left eye closed. The other was heavily bloodshot as it focused on Richard, who felt his stomach bottom out at seeing his friend so badly hurt._

_He moved to sit himself at the foot of the bed, being very careful not to jostle her._

_"Oh, sweetling…"_

_Rosalie's right hand reached out, bruised and tender as the rest of her, and set it comfortingly on his knee. "Listen very carefully, 'Shard, I need your help."_

_"I know, chèrie, the physician told us you're in for a long recovery-"_

_"No," Rosalie shook her head, wincing at the pain the action caused. "Not that. I need you to do something for me. It's time sensitive."_

_Calixte stepped forward, placing her hand to her husband's shoulder. "Anything, Rosalie, just name it."_

_Rosalie shifted her attention to her. "I need a clean identity, and I need you to call Luli Zheng. There will be a court hearing about Break Maiden one week from now and she needs to be ready."_

_"A new identity?" 'Shard balked, going completely unnoticed._

_Calixte focused on the most confusing request, "Wait, you said a court hearing? A hearing for what?"_

_Rosalie swallowed heavily, "I asked Luli to build a host of dummy corporations to launder my cash and to provide protection for my mother in the event something happened to me. Everything trickles down to an offshore shell called Magnus Enterprises. I signed the finalized papers before I left to meet Francis. They're in the safe behind that oil painting in the dining room. She's going to need them."_

_"Rosalie, I don't understand. The twins, Helia, Fred and the woman, and now Luli? What are you up to?" To 'Shard, it sounded an awful lot as though Rosalie was initiating an exit plan of which they were all unaware._

_The Metalist barreled into the room, wrenching the tv remote from the nearby table and aiming it at the television mounted up in the corner of the room. "It's time," he whispered, closing the door and turning up the volume. _

_The local news program was playing, showing a picture of Rosalie under a red banner reading, 'Leslie County woman found dead after wildfire.'_

_The title was enough to coax the Lilets closer to the television_

_'…the only confirmed death in a violent wildfire which engulfed six Leslie County properties last night. Georgianna Haywood was the only daughter of Magnus and Helen Haywood, longstanding pillars in the Kentucky thoroughbred community. Magnus Haywood was an icon in the stud farming industry, with a number of Derby winners and contenders to his credit up until his untimely death in 1992, leaving the estate to his wife and child. Helen Haywood is rumored to be residing in an assisted living community outside of Leslie County, forfeiting the care and maintenance of the property and herd to her daughter, Georgianna. The young woman's remains were found in the middle of one of the Haywood paddocks early this morning. It is believed Haywood attempted to halt the progress of the blaze by dispersing powdered flame retardant, whereupon the area around her was quickly engulfed in flames. Authorities do not expect foul play…'_

_Richard turned back toward Rosalie, shock written clearly on his features._

_Her chin lifted in defiance, refusing to apologize for the events which had unfolded right under 'Shard's nose._

_"Rosalie, what have you done?"_

* * *

_Overlook Safehouse - Palmira Colombia - Midnight, February 16, 2000_

A sharp knock echoed through the home, interrupting Calixte's retelling of the events after Rosalie's attack.

"What happened to Francis Higgs?" Raymond whispered urgently, needing to know that the man who facilitated Rosalie's suffering had suffered in kind.

Calixte shook her head, "Nobody knows…He disappeared."

The two rose immediately, making for the foyer where the next extraction team was undoubtedly waiting.

The rain had ticked up to an absolute downpour, the sound of the raindrops hitting the home's multitudinous windows made an earsplitting racket in the halls.

Reaching the door before the rest of the house's occupants, Red threw the entry wide.

A haggard older man in a black trench stepped over the threshold, throwing back the hood of his coat to reveal white hair buzzed precariously close to his scalp. His features were harsh with angry lines, the muscles beneath pulling one side of his face into a scrutinous scowl.

A woman half his age followed him, revealing a head of mousy brown hair beneath her hood. Thick glasses made her hazel eyes look comically large, like a terrified owl.

Yet another half dozen mercenaries stood at their backs, arms crossed over large automatic weapons.

"Hector." Calixte breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the Metalist immediately.

The man stepped into the foyer as a crackle of lightning flashed, renting the air with a cacophonous '_boom_!'.

"Cali, where are we on finding her?"

* * *

_Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - 5:00 a.m. - February 16, 2000_

Rosalie was anything but okay.

Bruised, half-strangled and dehydrated, the days at the cartel camp had all begun to blend together. She couldn't remember how long she had been held captive. It seemed as though she had been in the cage for weeks.

Her mind was beginning to hallucinate from the lack of sleep and adequate nutrition.

Doubles of Raymond, Ted, and Dembe could be seen wandering through the campsite, watching her.

She called for him once, seeing her lover stood in his usual suit, peering curiously at her in her iron cell. He did not come to her, but instead vanished into vapor before her very eyes, leaving her alone once more.

The men of the cartel kept jeering at her, throwing rocks and cans at her huddled form whenever they passed by. They were angry at her for their sudden lack of sport. Their living contraband was no longer there to abuse and degrade, and so, all of their vile attention was aimed at her.

Today, Rosalie was forced to watch them drag body after body up the hill, loading the limp figures of women and young girls onto the backs of dilapidated pickup trucks and driving off to God only knew where.

The guilt Rosalie felt at facilitating the other women's demise was all-consuming. She recognized every face as they were loaded onto the vehicle, recalling names, stories of who they were and where they had come from.

Mothers.

Daughters.

It was her fault they were all dead. If they hadn't fought, they could have lived a little longer. It was likely too late for Rosalie to be saved, she knew that now. The Capo had made it clear the German was already en route to their location. There was little hope for her, but if the women had lived, there would have been hope for them.

It was her fault.

All her fault.

A bloodcurdling scream snapped Rosalie out of her thoughts immediately, her expression turning horrified.

Lita came haring around the corner of the corral, fleeing in terror from two large, male cartel members.

There was a tear in the sleeve of her pink t-shirt and tears ran in hot lines down her cheeks as she tried to escape. Her bare feet slipped and scrabbled on the leaf-strewn forest floor, trying desperately to carry her up the steep hill.

The jackals were rapidly gaining on her, delighting in terrorizing the small child into an abject panic.

"¡Aquí, Ven aquí!" Rosalie shouted, hurrying toward the side of the cage closest to the girl. Her arm reached out for her, beckoning toward safety.

She was so thin, Rosalie just knew Lita would fit easily through the bars. She would be safe inside with her.

Lita turned on a dime and sprinted for the offered sanctuary.

The men from the cartel shouted and ran faster, quickly catching up to the terrified young girl.

The moment her small hand grasped Rosalie's, the woman pulled her swiftly through the iron bars.

Lita let out a harrowing scream as one of the men's hands shot in after her, forcefully clamping around her ankle.

Rosalie held tight to the girl and swung her own leg downward with an almighty force, slamming the man's arm against the iron bar with a booted foot and applying as much pressure as she could muster.

With a metallic, gong-like sound and a sickening pop, she felt the man's elbow dislocate.

He howled in pain and released the young girl immediately, dropping to his knees outside the cage.

Rosalie turned Lita into the rear of the enclosure, far from the reach of the advancing men.

The child flung her arms around Rosalie's middle, sobbing her thanks into her abdomen.

A handful of Cabalo's drug rats swarmed around the cage jeering and taunting the women with sinister words and vulgar gestures.

Rosalie clutched the little girl tightly to her, soothing as best she could.

"Don't listen to them," she whispered hoarsely, "Don't listen. I've got you now, you're safe here. You're safe with me. I've got you, Lita."

Lita sobbed brokenly against Rosalie's stomach, wetting her shirt with her tears, her tiny fists clutching at her like a lifeline.

"They're all gone. Las hijas, las madres…" She wept harder, her breaths turning into sharp, hyperventilating gasps.

"Shhh…" Rosalie soothed, rocking Lita like the young child she was. "I know. I know, I'm so sorry."

"Ah, a stowaway."

The Capo had come to see the commotion. He leaned against the bars, his arms clasped above his head while he watched the spectacle before him.

"What will become of her once the German takes you, querida? He'll be here tomorrow morning, and I can tell you he has no interest in your little friend."

Rosalie pointedly ignored him.

"I've decided what to do with your gentleman friend, Reddington. Would you like to know what's in store for him?"

She leveled the Capo an icy glare. "I suggest you pack your lunch if you're expecting a confrontation. He's notoriously lethal."

The Capo gave a sinister chuckle, "Such brazen confidence…Will you be so arrogant when I bring you his head?"

The very notion was laughable. The Capo would never be able to get that close to Raymond. He was far too clever for such a misstep. Her teams were far too clever to allow themselves to be led into a trap.

"You're so certain he will come for you, and so am I, which is why we're going to lead the way." The Capo strolled the front of the cage, peeking around its corner in an unsettling fashion so he could catch Rosalie's attention once more. "My men are dropping a false trail as we speak, using all the right players. I won't say it hasn't been difficult, your companion has decimated the Colombian underground in his search for you. However, I did manage to procure a bounty hunter and not one but two smugglers who will corroborate the story that you are were in a brothel in Palmira, right under his nose. He will go to collect you, and when he does…" He let the implication hang in the air.

"I'll sleep like a baby knowing he won't be fooled, and the last thing you'll see before you wheeze your dying breath is one of our faces looking down at you." Rosalie snarled the retort with as much venom as she possessed, turning her back on the cartel once more.

She could hear the Capo laughing his amusement and walking away once more.

The German would be there in a matter of hours.

He was right, what would happen to Lita?

Just as concerning…

What would happen to Raymond?

* * *

It was hours later when the two were finally left alone. The cartel members had orders which required their attention, allowing Lita and Rosalie to let their guard down a little.

They were seated at the rear of the cage, as far as possible from the edges, discussing the events of the morning prior.

"How did you survive?" Rosalie asked, recalling the barrage of bullets which had been fired into the corral. She had believed nobody had survived.

"I was in the back of the group of girls, another girl collapsed on top of me, and one on top of her. I couldn't move them, they were too heavy."

"So you waited?"

Lita nodded, yawning exhaustedly before turning to look at Rosalie. "I laid with my eyes closed until they lifted the girl who was on top of me, then I ran."  
"I saw them," Rosalie agreed, "The two who chased you, they were intent on catching you."

"I caught their attention when I rolled you the boulder." Lita admitted, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

"What?" Rosalie gasped looking at the young girl in complete shock.

Lita shrugged, tipping to nestle her head against Rosalie's thigh once more. "The white boulder, when El Bárbaro was on top of you. I was the one who rolled it to you."

Rosalie merely stared at Lita for a long while, her mouth agape. She couldn't believe such a small child was brave enough to provide help in such a dangerous situation. It took her several long moments to respond.

"I owe you a great debt, Lita. There is nothing I possess which would be enough to repay your actions."

"If your people come to get you," Lita murmured, her eyes growing heavy, "Take me with you? You promised before."

The softly spoken request tugged relentlessly at Rosalie's insides. "Of course, Lita. I'm not leaving you here, ever, under any circumstance. Okay?"

Lita gave a huge yawn, "Okay."

Rosalie bit back the deluge of tears which threatened to spill over at the sight of the little girl finally falling asleep. She was so small, yet so unbelievably tough. The world was better with her in it.

"Sleep, sweetling. I'll keep you safe."

Lita's breath was soon coming in soft puffs against Rosalie's leg,

Seeing a familiar bald head passing by, Rosalie let out a soft, "Psst."

Rogelio turned surreptitiously. He had been in the process of gathering firewood. Looking around for onlookers, he pretended to drop the logs he was carrying.

"What do you want?" He grumbled kneeling to pick up the fallen limbs.

"Rogelio, you're a reasonable man. You know what's happening to these women and young girls is wrong."

"I know it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been here." Rogelio retorted, his tone acidic. "They didn't need to die like that."

"I know, and I'll have to live with that," she hissed, careful not to wake Lita, "We can't save the others, but we might be able to save her." Rosalie gestured to the small bundle curled up against her, turning her imploring gaze to Rogelio, "Please, Rogelio. Do the right thing, help me get her out of here alive."

Rogelio shook his head, "You're just trying to get yourself out," he accused, picking up the remaining logs and standing upright.

"Rogelio, we both know the man who put the bounty on me is going to be here tomorrow morning. My people aren't going to make it in time."

It was the first time she said it out loud.

Rosalie knew in her gut, they weren't going to make it in time, especially if they were sent on a goose chase into an ambush. Even if Rogelio managed to get in touch with Raymond in the next few hours, the likelihood of them making it to her before tomorrow morning was slim to none.

"It's too late for me," she reiterated, "but they might be able to save Lita. Please, help me save just one of these girls, Rogelio."

Rogelio hesitated, considering the weight of what she was asking.

"I can offer you a career," Rosalie tried again, appealing to his own personal gain. "My network continues to operate even if I'm dead. The job pays well, comes with benefits, safe transport for you and your family to a country of your choosing. No murder, no guns, no harming innocent women and children."

The man's interest was obviously piqued, "How would I go about contacting your people."

The first flare of hope in days sparked deep inside Rosalie's chest, setting her heart hammering. "Find the man in the hat. He should be in town or nearby, he answers to the name Raymond Reddington."

Rogelio's eyes widened, "You've already threatened el Capo with him, I'm not going to hand myself over to the guy, what are you, crazy!"

He looked around shiftily, making sure nobody was watching them from across the campground.

Rosalie continued to make her case, "If you tell him where I am, your life will be spared. If you wait until he finds this place, and he will find this place, you will die along with the rest."

Rogelio looked at Lita, then at Rosalie, his pallor turning a sickly green. "Okay, what do I need to tell him?"

* * *

_Overlook Safehouse - Palmira Colombia - 11:00 a.m. - February 16, 2000_

Raymond Reddington sat waiting in the foyer once more, his head buried in his hands.

The rain had stopped for a spell, leaving the home silent save for the steady tick, tick, tick of Red's watch. The sound remained a constant reminder of just how long had passed since Rosalie was taken.

They were running out of time.

Raymond hadn't slept in days. Every time he attempted to catch a moment's rest, Rosalie's face would appear in his mind's eye, begging him not to leave her to the cartel.

A heavy knock resounded throughout the first floor, signaling their last extraction team for a while.

Calixte opened the door and Fred shoved two battered men over the threshold ahead of him.

"We found a lead on our way into town. These two have a bead on Rosalie's transport."

"_Fred_?"

Red's tone was one of absolute shock as he peered over the man's shoulder, locking eyes with another surprisingly familiar face.

"_Dahlia_?"

The heavily inked woman stepped forward with a genuine smile, her presence providing a measure of reassurance for the man before her.

She shook out the short, fiery locks which adorned her head, running a hand through the tousled curls before throwing her arms wide and engulfing him in a massive hug.

"Reddy-Boy, I had no idea you were in cahoots with our little innkeeper."

Raymond reciprocated the warm greeting, taking a measure of solace in being reunited with an old friend.

Dahlia felt the embrace linger, recognizing the weight which pressed itself upon the man's already bowed shoulders.

Fred stepped around them and into her line of sight, his expression a somber one.

"Rosalie and I, we're…She's my other half," he intimated, keeping his voice low.

She leaned back, her lips pursed in surprise. Dahlia tutted when she recognized the familiar despair lingering behind his gaze.

"We'll let the others interrogate these two," she gestured carelessly at the bound individuals in the center of the floor, "You and I have some catching up to do."

Dahlia pointedly guided Raymond toward the center of the house, leaning to whisper in his ear, "Where can we speak privately?"

Red's reply was mechanical, "The office, down this hall, last door on the right."

"How do you three know each other?" Flint and Ignatious interrupted, following them through the home's kitchen.

"I've known darling Raymond since his early days," Dahlia explained easily, "Now run along and help the others get answers from our new guests."

The Pepperwood Boys didn't move, both glaring suspiciously at the woman for her chipper demeanour.

"Scram." Dahlia snapped, sounding a lot more like herself.

"Boys, you have orders from Rosalie, find out what those two know and get on with it."

Fred's tone brooked no argument, rumbling threateningly over the Pepperwoods

This sent the men scuttling away well enough, clearing the space for Raymond and the two fugitives to gain a little privacy.

The door to the office closed with a sharp snap just as Calixte and Richard peaked around the entry leading into the hallway.

"How on earth does he know who Dahlia is?" Questioned Calixte, watching the three disappear behind the door, her suspicion growing by the second.

"Isn't it obvious?" Richard asked, "He's encountered her particular talents before."

The two shared a worrisome glance before they followed the others into the basement where the two new informants were being taken.

Inside the office, Red took the nearest seat, his hand roughly scrubbing his face once more.

Dahlia fixed them all a drink, settling into the chair opposite him with a thump.

Raymond was amused to see her androgynous taste in fashion hadn't changed the slightest in the intervening years, though she did have an assortment of new tattoos.

"What happened to her, Dahlia?" He asked without preamble, "What brought you into her world?"

Dahlia smiled softly, toasting her glass with Fred before managing to pick up the tale where Calixte had left off.

"She was hurt, Raymond, and betrayed. Not at all unlike yourself not too long ago…"

* * *

_Subterra Hospital & Rehabilitation Center - Harlan County, Kentucky - September, 1993_

_"She asked to see them first." Calixte's fretful gaze moved from her husband to the duo who had accompanied him._

_Fred didn't hesitate, bypassing the Lilets and holding the door for Dahlia as she stepped through._

_Rosalie's bruised and battered person lay silent in the hospital bed, her right eye tracking them slowly across the room._

_Dahlia carefully seated herself on the edge of the bed with Fred standing beside her._

_"Who did this to you?" He asked, needing to hear the truth from her perspective._

_"Francis, his father, the others…They were waiting at the top of that hill. I admit, I should have known they would try something after I turned down his proposal."_

_Fred's fury was instant and complete. "They deserve to be put down, the lot of them. Six grown men against a young woman half their-"_

_"You've reached a tipping point, Rosalie." Dahlia interrupted, reaching out a hand and gently tucking a blonde curl behind her ear. "I'm afraid there's no coming back from this. The ranchers have overstepped their bounds and they must be dealt with if you are to keep your home and your life."_

_Rosalie agreed, "I've already begun." Her one good eye flitted between Dahlia and Fred, "The Pepperwood Boys and Helia have started the real fire. There should be little left of the surrounding properties by now."_

_"Yes, but what about you, Rosie?" Fred countered, his previously brooding features now fraught with concern._

_"What do you mean?"_

_Dahlia leveled her a stern look, "You can't start a war with these men and expect them to take it sitting down. They'll try again, Rosalie, and next time you might not be so lucky."_

_"Maybe so, but that is of little consequence to me as-" Rosalie began, but Dahlia cut her off._

_"It is of great consequence to those who care about you, sweet girl."_

_A peculiar look was exchanged between Fred and the woman beside him, causing Rosalie to falter._

_Something was amiss._

_"Who are you?" She felt immediately and inexplicably distrusting, "You've been in my safehouse for months but never said what kind of criminal you are, or why you were there."_

_Dahlia smiled knowingly, looking for all the world as though she was delighted they had finally reached this point in their acquaintance._

_"They call me the Black Dahlia," she divulged, her voice a low, patient murmur._

_"Why?" Rosalie questioned, her bruised face pinching with visible suspicion._

_Dahlia placed a comforting hand upon her knee, the warmth of her touch radiating through the thin hospital blanket. "Rosalie, black dahlias are universally recognized as a symbol of betrayal. I am the one people enlist when they've felt treachery's keen sting. When a high profile criminal has been taken advantage of, say, swindled by a business partner, blackballed by their government…beaten half to death by a potential suitor." Her gaze fell pointedly on Rosalie's broken wrist, "I'm the one they call to even the score."_

_"You're-" Rosalie attempted to sit up further, hissing when every muscle in her protested at such a foolish action. "You were called to even a score with me?"_

_The two fugitives chuckled wryly, sharing another secretive look._

_"Fred was the one to contact me, shortly after his arrival at your home." Dahlia reached out a hand to grasp his, giving it a tight squeeze._

_"You see, Rosalie, some contracts I take for payment, others I bestow upon those I deem worthy. Fred was such a person." _

_Rosalie turned to the man in question, her confused gaze imploring, "What score did she settle for you?"_

_Fred took a seat behind Dahlia, "I had hardly a cent to my name. A silent coup had occurred in the biker gang I was a part of at the time, left my best friend and my wife dead, and me with nowhere to go…When I came to the aid of another man at a bar in Philadelphia, he thanked me, bought me a drink, and listened to my troubles for the next hour. The following day he brought me to Dahlia, who found me worthy of her assistance."_

_"What did she do?" Rosalie wondered aloud, looking to both individuals for an explanation. When they remained silent, she reiterated the question. _

_"What did you do, Dahlia?"_

_"I settled the score." She purred the sentiment with pride, "I gave Fredrick everything he needed to not only demolish the men responsible, but smoothed the path for him to become who he is today."_

_Rosalie turned back to Fred, her tone carrying a distinct note of disappointment. "Dahlia was never here as a client, was she?"_

_"What do you need from us, Rosie?" Fred implored, "Name it, and it's yours."_

_"You've been wronged." Dahlia agreed, "These men have taken advantage of your good nature, attempted to rob you, and when you proved yourself equal to the task of fending them off, they sought to kill you just to have their way. You are worthy of reparation, Rosalie. You need only ask."_

_Rosalie understood now. They were offering to settle the score, to take down each and every one of the men who put her in that hospital bed._

_"Francis." She whispered with finality, lifting her chin in defiance._

_"Only Francis?" Dahlia was obviously displeased by this, finding it a subpar retaliation for such a blatant attack._

_"I already have a plan for the others," Rosalie confided, "I would ask only your assistance in its execution, and my departure afterward."_

_A clever, delighted smile lit Dahlia's features, "You've always been one for surprises, sweet girl. We will deliver your revenge upon Francis Higgs, and once you are discharged, you and I will set out to desolate the others."_

_Dahlia bent and placed a warm kiss to Rosalie's forehead, as did Fred, before the two hurried from the room._

_They hurtled down the hall amid protests from Richard and Calixte, pointedly ignoring them while they made their way toward the elevator._

_"I'll need a ride." _

_Dahlia's voice cut through the quiet rumble of the lift, the request aimed at her companion._

_"Yes Ma'am," Fred replied, spinning the keys to his motorcycle along his finger. "Anything you require, I am at your disposal."_

* * *

"They're moving her tonight!"

A chorus of voices echoed outside the door alongside a herd of footsteps thundering down the lengthy hallway.

The Pepperwood Boys, Ted, Helia, and the Metalist all came hurtling through the door at once, stumbling over one another in a pell-mell scramble.

Kate Kaplan brought up the rear, her and the Lilets the only ones displaying any sense of decorum at their findings.

"Raymond, we've confirmed with both sources, the cartel is moving Rosalie late this evening, past sundown, at an embankment twelve miles north of the city."

Red took a steadying breath, fighting back the surge of relief that they had finally unearthed a shred of Rosalie's movements. If they were transporting her, it meant Rosalie was still very much alive, and, if they played their cards correctly, they would finally be able to intercept the German as well.

Baz and Dembe came sidling into the room after the others, resting their shoulders on the door frame and waiting expectantly for orders.

"Baz," Raymond's voice was gruff with emotion and fatigue, casting a fearsome thrill over the room, "Ready the others. I want boots on that embankment long before they set up camp."

* * *

_Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - 5:00 pm - February 16, 2000_

Rosalie wasn't sure if she was asleep or simply hallucinating.

Either way, it was terribly disorienting.

She could feel the world spinning beneath her, giving her a migraine and vertigo in equal measure.

Her eyes lifted to a tall shadow looming over her.

The illusion of Raymond was inside the cage now, taunting her with its silence.

She was tempted to tell it to go away. It was cruel to see him now, her embodiment of warmth and safety, when she was trapped in a squalid, foul-smelling cage.

This time, however, Raymond walked up to her and knelt, bending to kiss her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her chin.

"I'm coming for you, little dove."

Did he know she had given up hope?

"Promise?" She whispered, her voice cracking from dehydration.

"I promise," he assured, moving to sit beside her with his back against the bars. He looked down at her lap, "Now who's this?"

"Lita." Rosalie responded, dropping a hand to brush the dark brown curls from the young girl's sleeping face. "She's coming with me. If I'm gone when you get here, you take her with you. Okay?"

Raymond's face turned to a dark scowl, "I need you to stay awake, I need you to wait for me."

Rosalie lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, "Ray, I might be gone by the time you get here."

The notion didn't seem to register as an option for Red.

"I need you to stay. I need you to wait for me. There's something so very important I need to tell you."

Rosalie couldn't help but smile at this, "I know."

"How do you know what I've been waiting to say?" Raymond was positively pouting now, looking at Rosalie as though she had just told him Christmas was canceled.

"You've been waiting for the right moment," she tittered, "but I can see it in your eyes, the way you look at me. I've waited an awfully long time for you to look at me like that, Raymond Reddington."

His green eyes softened considerably, meeting her gaze with the very look she was referring to. "How do I look at you?"

Rosalie sniffled softly to herself, her mind working frantically to memorize the image down to its very last detail. "Like you just might love me too."

The vision visibly startled, "You love me?"

"I'm not going to say it if it's not really you." She chastised, reaching out to touch his cheek. Her fingertips passed right through, reminding her he was only a hallucination.

This was not her Raymond.

"Wake up, little dove."

"Not yet…" she pleaded, fighting to stay inside the protective dreamscape. It was far more pleasant than her reality at the moment.

Raymond kissed her cheeks again, his lips colder than she remembered. Wetter than she remembered.

"Wait for me."

"Wake up!"

"Despiertas!"

Rosalie's head snapped forward, feeling as though it were filled with sand. The muscles in her neck didn't want to engage properly. When she opened her mouth, it felt as though it too was filled with sand.

It wasn't Raymond's lips she felt on her face, but cool, wet raindrops. The precipitation was only beginning to fall in a steady pit-pat against Rosalie's sunburned face. The water soothed the dry, uncomfortable tightness in her cheeks and forehead, helping to calm the sting beneath the reddened skin.

"What happened?" She asked, looking blearily around. Rosalie's eyes struggled to take in the space around her, finally managing to focus on Lita's dancing figure in the center of the cage.

The young girl was giggling in delight, spinning around in circles with her arms stretched wide to better feel the droplets on her skin.

Rosalie couldn't help but smile at the picture. Children were wondrous creatures, adept in their ability to see the light in the darkness.

As Lita laughed and spun until she was dizzy, Rosalie was reminded of the small joys which youth afforded.

She could only hope, when Raymond found her, Lita would have the chance to experience those joys unencumbered by her time in the cartel camp.

A dull ache settled in her chest when Lita smiled brightly at her.

"Dembe's gonna love you," she laughed, shifting to the back of the cage where a small tree hung over them.

Taking one of its large leaves, Rosalie created a sort of funnel, allowing the steadily increasing rainwater to collect inside it. Bringing the edge to her lips, she breathed a sigh of relief at the sensation of cool water trickling over her tongue.

"Who's Dembe?" Lita asked, taking the leaf when Rosalie offered it to her.

Rosalie took a seat at the back of the cage once more, patting the spot beside her as she did so.

Lita followed suit, curling up against Rosalie's side as she had for the past couple days.

"Dembe is one of my very best friends," Rosalie explained, a smile lingering in her voice, "He was taken by a cartel, too, when he was very young."

"He was?" Lita sat up, her dark eyes alight with curiosity and hopefulness, "Did he escape?"

Rosalie fought to keep her watery eyes from betraying her, "He did. Dembe escaped with the man in the hat. He'll be one of the people who comes to get you when I'm gone. He'll make sure you're safe."

A heavy silence hung in the air between them, and Lita finally voiced the question which had been plaguing her since she slipped into the cage with Rosalie.

"What's going to happen to me when you're gone?"

Her voice was timid, for the first time voicing the fear which lingered beneath.

"You're going to hide." Rosalie assured her, "Early tomorrow morning, before the Capo comes to get me, we're going to hide you. So you won't be found, okay?"

"Okay." Lita nodded, rotating to rest her head against Rosalie's thighs once more. "…Rosalie?"

"Yes?" Rosalie asked, using the leaf to gather another mouthful of water before setting it aside.

"I wish you didn't have to go."

The statement tore at what was left of Rosalie's resolve, making her eyes sting with unshed tears.

"Me too, sweetling. Me too."

* * *

_Overlook Safehouse - Palmira Colombia - 8:00 pm - February 16, 2000_

In the bustling safehouse overlooking the valley, Ted Beaumont was sequestered in the home's office, a burner pressed tightly to his ear. "We believe we have a lead on Rosalie's location."

"What's the lead?" The voice asked sharply, demanding an answer.

Ted cleared his throat, "We encountered a pair of bounty hunters working for the cartel. They indicated she would be moved this evening."

"What time?"

"Eleven p.m. local."

"You need to bring every man you have, understood?" The man's voice held a harsh, authoritative note.

"We are," Ted assured, "We're on it, I promise. Between Reddington's men and Rosalie's extraction teams, we're well armed."

The voice on the other end heaved a heavy sigh, "I should be there. I can't believe you guys lost her."

"I know," Teddy buried his face in his hand once again, the continued guilt of having Rosalie taken on his watch was eating him alive.

"Keep me posted on whatever you uncover, Ted. Seriously, nothing's too small. If she's not back by tomorrow, I'm going to have to alert Florian."

"Understood. And, Horace?"

The smooth, deep voice of Horace Asim Jabare filtered through the connection, "Yeah?"

"Thanks again for reaching out."

* * *

_Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - 10:00 pm - February 16th, 2000_

"Rosalie…"

"_Rosalie_!"

It was pitch black in the cartel camp when the rustling of leaves and crunching of twigs reached Rosalie's ears. Her mind had wandered once more, the sleep deprivation taking its toll on her weary body.

Lita was sitting up beside her, eyes trained on the inky blackness beyond the gate's bars.

"There's someone out there," she pointed with a terrified whisper, her other hand holding tightly to Rosalie's shirt.

Adrenaline hammered through Rosalie's veins and she lifted a finger to her lips, imploring Lita to remain quiet as they listened to their surroundings.

She could definitely hear footsteps, heavy ones. There was at least five people walking their way.

Looking to the sky, Rosalie desperately wished one of the tumultuous clouds would move. A speck of moonlight would throw the whole hillside into stark relief, then she would know if it was friend or foe coming toward them.

Rosalie couldn't help a surge of hope fill her from head to toe.

Rogelio had been gone for hours…perhaps he had managed to reach Raymond?

She found herself crawling to the edge of the cage, that flare of hope growing by the second.

It was him. It had to be him.

Rosalie had just taken a deep breath in order to whisper his name, to let him know she was there, when the clouds finally parted.

Six armed sicarios flanked the Capo, three on either side while they made their way down the small hill leading to the cage.

Rosalie scrambled backward, swearing under her breath as terror engulfed her insides.

They were early.

They were far too early.

The Capo wasn't supposed to collect her until tomorrow morning.

Reaching the rear of the cage, Rosalie bumped into the small, huddled figure in its corner.

Lita.

They didn't have time for her to hide.

_Where_?

Where was she going to hide?

The footsteps grew louder as the seconds passed on.

They would be upon them any moment.

* * *

_Overlook Safehouse - Palmira Colombia - 10:15 pm - February 16, 2000_

Raymond was strapping into a bulletproof vest in the master bedroom, mentally preparing himself for the task at hand. He checked his firearms repeatedly, ensuring each was fully loaded and ready. He slipped a number of extra clips into his jacket pockets in case.

If all went according to plan, Rosalie would be back in his arms in less than an hour.

Their lookout team was already in place, waiting for the arrival of the cartel and the German. They were going to get him this time, Red knew it.

He felt a shift in the air when he lifted his fedora from the dresser, and looked up to see the image of Rosalie in the mirror above it.

"You always were devilishly handsome, especially when you were out for blood. You know I loved this suit. I hope I'll have a chance to see it again."

"Don't say that." He hissed, terror clutching at his insides. The very notion that she could be gone, that he could lose her… "You don't get to go quietly. You don't get to leave me just yet."

"I never wanted to leave you." Rosalie giggled, resting her chin on his shoulder.

Red couldn't feel its weight, but if he focused, he could recall the ghost of her fingertips caressing his cheek. He held onto that feeling, memorized it, made it just as much a part of his soul as his own name. Raymond wanted to be able to recall that feeling always, to remember the exact way it felt to be loved by her.

A gentle, serene smile lit Rosalie's features with a palpable warmth. "Raymond Reddington, I am not done loving you yet."

"I've wanted you to love me," he confessed, "I can't tell you how long I've wanted-"  
"I already do. You know I do." She whispered against the shell of his ear, "Come get me, love. I'm waiting."

Raymond whipped around, hoping to see her one last time before they had to leave.

She was gone.

The hallucination disappeared the moment he turned, leaving Red alone once more.

"Wait for me." He whispered to the empty room, hoping his plea would be carried to the woman he loved.

He couldn't lose her now.

"Raymond."

Dembe had appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight. He was dressed in an identical bulletproof vest atop a t-shirt and dark pants, ready for their ambush. His deep voice held a somber note as he spoke.

"There's something you need to see."

* * *

Rogelio stumbled slowly up the dark drive leading to the safehouse Rosalie had told him about.

Part of him was convinced he would die in this endeavor, yet there he was, trudging up the long hill to where the home sat, its soft yellow lights glowing in the darkness.

The gravel crunched noisily beneath his feet, making it nearly impossible to keep his presence from being known.

Almost as though they could read his mind, three mercenaries appeared from the shadows lining the path, throwing him to the ground and slapping him in handcuffs before he could even blink.

He sputtered and thrashed uselessly when they lifted him, dragging him into the home with ease.

* * *

Inside the front door, the house was a flurry of activity. Mercenaries and fugitives alike had been arming themselves to the teeth until they noticed the three men lugging their captive into the foyer.

All activity stopped, and the fugitives converged on the new arrival, their faces varying shades of confusion and suspicion.

It was then that the seas parted and a man wearing a hat similar to the one Rosalie described stepped into the ring of people.

A formidable, terrifying man.

Glinting green eyes seemed to cut Rogelio to the bone as the man's face contorted into a vicious snarl. "Who are you?"

"Señor Reddington?" He waited for a sign of recognition, but received none.

"_Who are you_?" The man repeated ominously, removing a gun from the small of his back and using its barrel to guide Rogelio's face upward.

"I- My name is Rogelio…" he stammered, now abundantly aware of the fact he was in over his head.

"I'm a very busy man, Rogelio. I suggest you tell me why my men found you lurking outside the house, before I lose my patience and take your head clean off."

The man's deep, gravelly voice sent a terrified shiver along Rogelio's spine.

"You've uncovered intel leading to the recovery of a woman. Blonde, American?"

Every man in the room stepped forward at this, causing Rogelio to squirm about nervously in the mercenaries' grasps.

"_Where is she_?" 'Shard growled menacingly, striding forward to grasp Rogelio's chin in a tight grip.

Fred, Hugh, Ted, Dembe and the Pepperwood Boys flanked him on either side, creating a threatening incentive, indeed.

"She sent me!" Rogelio shouted, not wishing to be torn apart by the very angry brigade before him. "The intel you have saying she would be transported tonight, it was leaked by the Capo of the Los Reyes Sagrados cartel. It's a trap, intended for Reddington."

The man in question stepped forward, once more parting the wall of menacing individuals with his presence. Standing nose to nose with him, Rogelio could see Reddington's lip curl and his left eye twitch with barely restrained fury.

"How do I know she sent you? How do I know you're telling the truth?" He snatched the front of Rogelio's collar, lifting him bodily from the mercenaries' hold and slamming him against the front door's polished surface. "How do I know she's still alive?"

"She knew you would question," Rogelio explained hurriedly, "That's why she sent me with a code, so you would know I was telling the truth."

"What is it?" Raymond hissed, a flicker of hope flaring in his chest for the first time in days. "What's the code?"

Rogelio took a deep breath, then whispered."R-Rosie. She said the code was Rosie, Dear."

* * *

_Los Reyes Sagrados Camp - Unknown Location, Colombia - 10:15 pm - February 16th, 2000_

The footsteps grew closer and closer until a bright light shone into the cage, blinding Rosalie in an instant.

"Hello again, querida."

Rosalie held a hand up to shield her eyes, hearing the clink of metal on metal and the shrill creek of a rusted gate swinging open.

"What do you want?" She snapped, feeling two men grasp her upper arms forcefully, hoisting her to her feet and dragging her struggling form out of the cage.

The Capo came into view, this time sans sunglasses. His obsidian eyes looked her over thoughtfully before coming to rest on her face.

"I told you before, my little savage. The German does not care in what condition I deliver you, just as long as you're alive." A lewd grunt left his throat as he closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to grasp her neck, his thumb stroking her throat pensively. "Tonight, I find myself with a particular hunger."

Rosalie considered biting the hand which held her, the thought was so nauseating. For once, however, she held her tongue.

He hadn't yet asked about Lita, and Rosalie was quietly hoping he and his men had completely forgotten her.

This hopeful illusion was shattered when the Capo turned his head to look inside the cage.

"Now, where is your little flea, querida? She was here not too long ago."

"She ran." Rosalie staunchly lied, her stomach plummeting when two of the men stepped past her, entering the small metal cage and taking a long look around.

"I told you, she's not here-" she reiterated, but her lie was cut off by a high-pitched scream.

Rosalie immediately started thrashing, managing to knock one of the men holding her into the metal gate, loosening his hold enough for her arm to break free.

She jammed the heel of her hand into the other's nose, adding a kick to the groin for good measure. Finding herself unencumbered, Rosalie slammed herself into the Capo, sending him staggering backward just as Lita scrabbled through the cage's bars.

"Lita, run!" Rosalie shouted, working to shove aside the remaining two sicarios. "Run!"

Lita sprinted for the hillside, making it halfway before a handful of cartel members came stumbling out of their tents.

She skidded to a halt, knowing she could not make it up the hill without being caught.

Rosalie felt her insides turn to ice as Lita turned back to her, uncertain of what to do.

Pushing one of the sicarios aside, she ran forward, arms outstretched.

Lita ran back to her, flinging her arms around Rosalie and burrowing into her firm hold.

Rosalie pitched forward, sheltering the little girl's body with her own.

They would not take her.

Men could be heard shouting and snarling, the sounds coming closer and closer.

The distinct sound of the Capo's voice could be heard above all others, demanding his men separate them.

Rosalie clutched Lita tighter, her heart breaking for the terrified sobs which were being muffled into her shoulder.

They would not take her.

Rough hands lifted Rosalie bodily from the ground, another pair working to prize Lita from her arms.

Swinging her foot, she made contact with the soft middle of a man's stomach, managing to knock the wind out of him. Rosalie could hear him coughing and gulping for breath somewhere on the ground.

Fists began to fly.

Rosalie fought to keep the blows from getting anywhere near Lita.

Hit after hit landed on her back and shoulders, but still her grip remained steadfast.

Lita yelped loudly when a long heavy pole struck itself across Rosalie's back, managing to catch her small fingers in the process. She pulled her hands back to her middle, crying loudly into Rosalie's chest.

The action allowed a brief moment for two of the halcones wedge their hands between Lita and Rosalie.

"No." She hissed, gripping the girl with every ounce of strength she possessed.

Lita grasped at her once again, her small hands clutching at the small of her back.

Grasping the child tightly and pulling with all their might, the two halcones managed to create a sizable gap between the two.

Another two men surged forward, grasping Rosalie around the middle and pulling.

Rosalie winced as she felt Lita's nails dig into the flesh of her back, trying desperately to hold on.

In the space of a blink, the two were split apart. A blip of silence swallowed the space, and in that moment the female's eyes met.

Words could not convey the terror Rosalie found in Lita's, nor the guilt Lita found in Rosalie's.

They had taken her.

The silent bubble was burst by a harrowing scream renting the air on the hillside.

Thrashing and clawing once more, Rosalie managed to free herself from her captors.

She sprinted forward, managing to close the distance between them before a familiar sensation wrapped about her throat.

Her fingertips had just grazed Lita's before she was falling to the ground, at the mercy of the crude catch pole which had dragged her to the cage in the first place.

The man holding the end of the pole tugged, dragging Rosalie backward as she clawed toward the men holding Lita.

Rosalie felt dirt and gravel work its way beneath her nails. Lightheadedness was beginning to set in. Her lungs implored her to stop struggling, but her mind screamed at her to get to the girl.

The men holding Lita began to move backward, hiding her from Rosalie's sight.

Another pull on the catch pole brought her to her knees.

A small reprieve from the pressure on her larynx allowed Rosalie to inhale a heaving breath, her vision wavering before her voice screamed to the night.

"LITA!


End file.
